Close
by dandelion-pop
Summary: After marrying the beautiful heiress to the Crane Empire, Luis Lopez aims to make her life bitter, but what he hadn't thought of was that the exquisite, rich girl would have a mind of her own. The willful Sheridan Crane will go to hell and back..(cont.)
1. Prologue

**A Small Note:**

Hey guys, 

I'm a writer (obviously), new to this site, and my primary focus is the pairing of Sheridan and Luis of Passions. I do hope you enjoy what you read, and please review:). Thanks. . . 

**Close  
**_by:_ dandelion

**Prologue**

The white candle stood tall, its flame wreaking faint shadows in a room that strove for its glow. Leaving invisible trails in their wake, trickles of translucent wax froze when they rolled onto the desolate wooden table. Golden and rich, a bitter gist did little for the secrets of the soul. An inferno of life, death and lust raged within the vicinity of a tormented heart. Outside, the pounding of the rain was insistent, perturbing.

_Tip tap. Tip tap. Tip tap. _

There was a certain alluring rhythm about it that encouraged pensiveness, invited the darkest skeletons out of a buried closet. It sounded determined. It reminded him of himself long ago. A driven, determined young man. Despite that, he'd been the crust of the man he had wanted to be. And now he was but the ashes of the imperfect man he'd been.

A firm tanned hand wrapped around the crystal glass, and brought it to his waiting lips. Burning its way down his throat, the tart liquid made him wince. Gentle hands fell lightly upon his shoulders.

"Don't do this to yourself." Her voice was soft and kind, her touch so tender it was almost caring. But he was immune to it all, had been for a while.

"I like the rain, Sheridan. It's… nice. I like it." Half-drunk and mildly amused he looked up at her with empty brown eyes. His eyes stripped his soul and squeezed at her heart. "Don't you like it?" Luis asked tunefully, searching her eyes with his own for any sign that she shared his sudden sentiment.

She closed her eyes and released a poignant sigh. "Yes, Luis. I like it… a lot." His grin was boyish and pleased as her hand delicately cupped his jaw and a small smile wavered on her pink lips. "You're drunk." Sheridan told him, her voice but a whisper as he kissed her hand. Quietly, she padded across the carpeted floor and settled beside him.

"I know." Though not ashamed, the confession was sheepish and he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. Loosening yet another button on his formal white shirt, Luis groaned with fatigue as he shifted on the pale blue couch to face her. "I'm drunk… but not very drunk." She drew closer to him, her hand gently prying the glass from his grasp and setting it on the wooden table.

"I know you're not." Dark eyes fluttered shut when her fingers undid the rest of the buttons on his shirt and the small ivory hands that had touched his shoulders, now caressed his chest. Wordlessly, she dropped to the floor, situating herself between his knees. Sheridan braced her hands on his hard stomach and slid upwards to cover his body with hers. Her lips pressed against the pulse point on his neck for a few moments before they left it to trace open-mouthed kisses down his muscled torso.

Suddenly the pounding of the rain wasn't a reason for solitude. It was rather comforting, and peaceful. And the golden flame provided enough of a glow as to allow the darkness to embrace them.

He really hadn't meant to respond to her brazen advances, but alas some things couldn't be helped. Not when her soft pink lips were pressed against his and he felt oddly compelled to kiss her back. It did something to him when she kissed his mouth, something foreign, unrecognizable and entirely too barren for him to cherish. Luis moved his lips against hers, dazedly flipping them onto the couch so that he was lying atop her. His weight was fully pressed against her, but she didn't seem to mind because she uttered no protest. As he pulled away from the numbing kiss, he was painfully aware of his apparent arousal and the fact that she knew he wanted her badly. She never made it obvious that she did know as her face burrowed against his neck, her nose nuzzling the sensitive skin.

He stiffened when she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him even closer to her. The notion was intimate… perhaps too intimate. Sheridan eased away to look into his eyes, sighing at what she saw there.

"Do you want to…"

"No." He lied hurriedly, not wanting to hear her call whatever was going on between them by the façade known as love—and making love.

"Okay." She nodded her blond head in understanding, tilting her face upwards to capture his lips in a final kiss before she slipped from beneath him. The black sweater she wore was designed to bare her shoulders and he felt peculiarly resentful towards anyone that would allow his gaze to linger upon the flawless, milky white skin. He watched as she smoothed her hands over the black slacks she wore and finger-combed her short golden curls, all the while willing his body to abandon its unwanted reaction towards her.

"Where are you going?" Luis asked insensibly as she slid her feet into the boots left by the main door.

"Out."

"Are you going to come back?" A narrow beam of hope shone through his voice, but the emptiness was too vast in comparison.

"I always do." She smiled at him benignly much as she would at a frail child before she slipped her black coat over her shoulders and gently shut the door, leaving nothing but the faint click in her wake.


	2. Chapter One

_Hey guys, _

_I'm still going with this, even though it's not getting such a good response. Not too many shuis fans? Anyway, thanks a bunch _MahoganyMiss _for your review and support. _

_Enjoy, and please review:)._

**Close  
**by: dandelion

**Chapter One**

"Thank you." Was the greeting she received that morning as her blue eyes left the swirling coffee only to rest upon his handsome face. She acknowledged him quietly for a moment, wondering what it would be like for him to shave the slight stubble off his cheeks. He would look clean-cut, she decided, perceiving that her scrutiny unnerved him.

"For what?" She asked finally, returning her gaze to the expensive mug that had her name imprinted on it with a fine layer of gold. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see him shift uncomfortably and attempt to fix the dark tie around his neck.

"For the aspirins."

Sheridan nodded with recognition, raising the mug to her lips and downing a healthy sip of her black coffee.

"I'm leaving." He announced upon earning no response from her. With a deep breath, he lifted his briefcase off the ground. "Aren't you going to give your husband a kiss goodbye?" He posed dryly, his pulse racing slightly at the thought of her lips touching his skin.

The chair's legs screeched as they scratched against the ground's tiles. She took four short steps to stand directly before him, a juvenile inch separating them. Luis blew out a wavering breath turning his cheek towards her, but that obviously wasn't her idea of a goodbye kiss. Trailing a manicured finger along his jaw, she turned his face towards her and leaned up, pressing her lips against his. The kiss was short, but good. He liked it—a lot—and knew that he'd never admit it.

Clearing his throat, he took a step backwards and dropped the hand that had unconsciously rested at the curve of her waist. His gaze met hers for a minute before he opened the door and slipped out quietly, slamming it behind him.

"Goodbye darling," She muttered sarcastically, her fingers unconsciously feeling her warm lips. Good kisser that husband of hers, even when he didn't want to kiss—or be kissed in that case. The heavy rock on her finger caught the light as she slid it off and carelessly dropped it on the kitchen counter. _Martha should arrive soon_, she noted silently, wandering out of the overly expensive kitchen and into her room. Hers and Luis'. Only he rarely slept there. Most of his nights were either spent on the couch, drinking himself to oblivion or in the guest room. Oddly he left all of his possessions in their room, and showered and shaved in the master bedroom's bathroom. It was as though he did it for show, and she wouldn't have been surprised if that were the case. Their life was just one colossal façade, fed by fibs, lies, and the crumbs of the epitome society. She was sick and tired of it all.

The achingly wonderful scent of shampoo, soap, shaving cream, and deodorant lingered behind like a token of his presence, attacking her senses in a powerful army of soldiers facing a submissive victim. It was a difficult task to ignore it; the aroma was fabulous—so clean, so fresh, so manly—so Luis. Lifting the note he'd left her with distaste, Sheridan rolled her eyes. Couldn't he have just told her?

_Davidsons' Gala Dinner tonight at 8:30. I'll be home late. Please be ready when I'm here._

_Luis _

She crumpled the senseless note and tossed it into the trashcan. It was final; she would never understand that man.

Groaning, she picked up the shrilling phone and brought it to her ear. "Hello… Monica! Lovely to hear from you. Yes, darling, it's exquisite thank you… last night… yes I believe he did… again I adored the design, thank you… Luis just left for the office… I'll tell him… sure… you can call him at the office, he should be there by now… yes… alright, darling, see you tonight then. Goodbye." She slammed the phone down with an impatient huff. She couldn't possibly withstand any more of that… flirting. It wasn't flirting. It was bitching--pure and true. The woman could not make it more obvious that she _wanted_ her husband. Vulgar as it was, it slid by unnoticed by everyone she knew because they all knew that Luis was a willing participant in the show of infidelity.

Her nails dug into her palms when the phone rang again. Mustering her politest voice, she answered. "Hello… hello darling… I assume Monica called you… I don't… don't hold your breath then… I'm not being snappish… last night was noth-… I should have figured you'd want something… yes I did get your note… wouldn't it have been much easier for you to tell me than to leave a note and then have to check back that I actually got it… you know what I take that back, I'm in no mood to argue with you… Good…" But he had already slammed the phone. Certainly not by any means what she would call a civil conversation. It was anything but. The night before had been glorious, she'd felt so close to him, yet so detached. Her husband was the first to ever decline an offer of a night of passion… from her at least. She'd really had him there, right where she wanted him: on top of her, leaning into her, kissing her. If she'd pushed just an inch further she knew he wouldn't have ever said 'no'. But she had to be at her most decent behavior, always. That alone was tiresome and required more of an input of effort than anything else. For once, she'd want to throw caution in to the wind and push that juvenile inch too far.

Sheridan never would though. She knew it far too well, and so did Luis which was precisely why she posed no threat to the guise he fought so viciously to maintain. He could wear his mask, and she would gradually wither away.

They walked in together with glamour, his hand just barely touching the naked flesh at the small of her back. The feathered contact sent shivers running down her spine. Their smiles glowed in the light of the camera flashes present to cover the posh event. Her blue eyes glowed with the gap in her pretense. She felt ill to the stomach, but she was too accustomed to the whole ordeal. Survival wasn't an option. It was a necessity. To belong, to exist among them, you must survive.

His hand dropped back to his side the moment they were safely introduced into the ballroom. The warmth it had provoked slowly wilted away as an elderly couple approached them questioningly.

"What a beautiful couple, Ralph!" The woman exclaimed gushingly, finding the perfect way to impose her sudden appearance.

Her husband, a fairly healthy old man, smiled and his shiny black pipe dangled thoughtfully from his parted lips. "Lovely." He agreed, his eyes lingering for a moment too long on the stunning blonde.

Luis laughed sociably, stretching out a strong hand to shake the older man's hand. "I'm a lucky man." She would have burst out laughing had she not spied Monica Simmons heading towards them purposefully. Deciding to ignore her for the moment, she settled her gaze, alight with humor, upon Luis. He had just finished introducing them to the pair of welcome strangers.

"Sheridan, a divine name. So rare. So familiar." Ralph Wilson, as his name turned out to be, commented with what she thought was once a charming smile. "What's your maiden name?"

"Crane." She uttered in response, her eyes fluttering towards Monica who was exchanging glances with her husband.

"She's Alistair and Katherine's daughter, Ralph." Mariah pointed out helpfully. "You look fabulous, but I'm sure your husband has already told you that."

Luis smiled amiably at the mention of his name, but she doubted he knew what the woman was talking about. "He has." Sheridan lied readily, sliding her arm through his.

"We'll leave the two of you now. It was a great pleasure meeting you…" A few more words were shared before they walked away to set another victim.

Luis stepped forward deliberately to free his arm of hers. The notion was cold even as a faux smile strode onto his lips. Monica Simmons finally stood before them, her pale blue dress baring an indulging view of her cleavage. Her husband made no secret of his admiration as his dark eyes lingered on the exposed skin.

Sheridan cleared her throat, stepping forward to stand beside him. "Monica…" She acknowledged pleasantly, glancing sideways at his achingly handsome profile.

"Sheridan, Luis! What a pleasant surprise!" Her dark hair was arranged in a chignon and her pouty lips twisted into a lustful smile. The puff to her rose-tinted mouth was definitely the handiwork of an operating room.

"Nice to see you." Luis added, grabbing a drink off a passing waiter's tray. "I loved the tablecloths. The colors are wonderful. Thank you."

"Oh, Luis, I'm glad you liked them. I thought they would suit your taste." She laid a delicate hand on his inner arm, an act too comfortable to be made in front of his wife. Sheridan brushed away the sickening feeling in her gut and watched as the woman slowly slid her hand away, never breaking the eye contact she had with her—clearly—unfaithful husband. Right then, she was glad when she spotted Matthew Laurence weaving his way towards them. Despite the fact that his presence and obvious feelings for her unnerved Sheridan, she felt it was appropriate for him to arrive right then.

Luis turned his attention away from Monica when Matthew reached their side and smiled cordially. "Luis," Sheridan interrupted. "This is Matthew Laurence, an old friend." Smiling, Matt's blue eyes glittered as he hissed a silent 'hello' and brushed a friendly kiss to her cheek. "Matt, this is my husband, Luis Lopez." So strikingly opposite in appearance, the two men shook hands firmly, an undeniable look of recognition passing between them. It wasn't a pleasant one at that. Matt's sandy-colored hair was fixed to perfection and his blue eyes were proper even by the way they surveyed. Luis, on the other hand, was on an opposite drift. His dark hair wasn't messy, but there were no severe attempts to make it look good. He had just combed it after his shower and left it. His brown eyes sparkled with virtually unveiled shallow emotions to everything around him. Shallow emotions, she thought bitterly. With her husband, she couldn't possibly plunge deeper than shallow emotions.

"It's nice to finally meet you." Matt admitted, looking away from Luis to settle his gaze upon Sheridan's glowing face. "I wanted to make sure I gave her away to someone who was worth it."

She knew that the comment angered Luis and it gave her an odd sense of pleasure. Monica lingered about for a bit after Matt's arrival, but then left to have a drink at the bar. Her husband tensed, closing his fist tighter around the flute of champagne. His dark eyes glittered with what she deciphered as suppressed rage. "I'm sure you did." Luis said tightly, raising the drink to his lips and downing the final gulp of the tart liquid.

"I sure hope so." Matt repeated. "It was just so sudden, the marriage and all. I wasn't around the last few months that it happened, so I feel like I haven't really absorbed the entire thing." Being self-explanatory came with the territory for Matt. It was utterly adorable at times but downright annoying at others. Right then, it just made everything all the more uncomfortable.

Luis winced, cleared his throat, and seized another flute of champagne. "I guess the live proof will help with the absorbing stage." He shot snidely and took a sip of his beloved drink.

Sheridan shifted uneasily and pinned Matt with an even gaze that wasn't hard, only scrutinizing. "How was your trip?" She asked in an attempt to cast the topic of conversation away from her marital life.

"Successful." He conceded with a dimpled charming smile.

"As always." She commented with no particular meaning behind her words.

"Are you up for a dance, Miss Crane?" Matt invited good-naturedly, setting his drink aside.

"I certainly am, and it's Mrs. Lopez." Her smile emphasized the sparkle in her eyes as she slid her hand into Matt's outstretched one. Luis nodded in mute agreement at Matthew's inquisition if 'it was alright'. In fact, it wasn't. Far from it. It felt horrible to have that… specimen of a man hanging all around his wife.

They made their way across the dance floor and stood amidst the crowd. Matthew drew his arms around her, and it only took them a few seconds to fall into the rhythm and dance like they'd done it dozens of times before. And they had—often. If she hadn't met Luis and married him so quickly, she would've been married off to Matt eventually. That wasn't so bad, she conceded.

"Is everything alright?" Matthew posed in genuine concern.

"Were you really upset about the wedding?" She turned the question to him, satisfied at the glimmer of uncertainty that appeared in his eyes. Beautiful eyes, she thought. Such a light color.

"About you not being single or about not being here?"

"Both." Sheridan prodded, quietly studying the handsome angles of his sharp face. He had a pointed nose which often gave the impression that he was a hell of a showoff. And he was… sometimes.

"Yes, I was." The reply was curt but honest to a fault.

"What about?"

"Both." He said evenly, meeting her blue eyes with his own. "I had a hard time believing you'd given up on us for the hope that you'd found something everlasting." She averted his gaze as her eyes momentarily filled with tears. They disappeared almost as quickly as they appeared. Matt smiled. "Was it as good as you thought?"

"Even better." Her voice didn't wobble as it uttered the worst lie of all.

"That's good." He swallowed—hard. "I hope all goes well for you. God knows you deserve it."

She smiled slightly, pondering whether it was good or bad that she deserved this. Bad, she decided moments later. Very bad. Luis appeared when the song hit its final note, breaking them apart to 'dance with his wife'. His hold on her was a tad too tight, his demeanor slightly harsh as he stared at her face for a moment only to look away when she smiled at him.

"You know I would have never figured out you were the jealous type. You don't come off like that." Sheridan observed calmly, watching with the corners of her eyes as Matt nursed a lemon-flavored vodka on the terrace… alone. He looked lonely and she felt dreadfully responsible for anything he went through.

"I'm not jealous." He snapped impatiently. "Laurence and I are just not exactly too warm about each other. I'd rather you stayed away from him."

"I'm not going to stay away from a lifelong friend because you don't warm up to him." Her tone was so icy, it was almost mocking. "Don't be ridiculous."

"My concerns are not ridicule." He said angrily, glaring at her smug face. "Stay away from him." There was a threatening undertone to his usually empty voice.

Sheridan leaned up, pressing her lips to his cheek closest to his ear. She could feel his mild shiver at the intimate contact and felt a shrill of satisfaction bolt through her. "Would you stay away from Monica if I asked you to?" She hissed heatedly, bathing the sensitive organ with a rush of warm air from her throaty laugh.

"Stop that." Luis demanded, fighting to keep his sensations under control. "Monica is a relative."

"Obviously not close enough to keep you out of her bed." Her offhand implication left him speechless for once. He even felt a bit humiliated himself. He hadn't exactly made an effort to keep his affairs from his wife, but he'd assumed she'd be torn about it… not so callous. It was just as well, he thought. The 'couldn't-care-less' attitude certainly bounced both ways. So he said nothing in reply. There was just nothing to say. The song came to a close and she slipped out of his arms and very apparently made her way to the balcony. His temper flared, but he said nothing. He couldn't.

Monica turned up a few minutes later and hung all over him. He wouldn't have minded had he not been so determined to keep an eye out on his wife. Even though the dark haired woman was quite the distraction, he witnessed the chaste kiss his wife bestowed upon Matthew Laurence's lips. It drove him to rage with jealousy. The truthfulness it represented and the lack of lust in the kiss was what had honestly set him off. It seemed driven by emotion and not just a spur of the moment kind of thing.

He wouldn't cause a scene. It just wasn't him to do so. Luis would handle it when they got home and that was right at the very moment. The decision was abrupt, thought Monica who hadn't noticed the closely huddled couple. It had taken Luis a whole five minutes to have Sheridan wrapped in her mink coat with her farewells said and in their dark limousine.

Not a word was spoken during the fifteen-minute ride back to their mansion.


	3. Chapter Two

_Thanks for the reviews! Please R & R :)_

**Chapter Two**

_She slid out of Luis's arms just as the pianist struck the final note to the classical song. Wordlessly she made her way towards the balcony, feeling his unnerving gaze burning a hole through her naked back. The arched glass doors were slightly ajar as she finally found herself breathing in the beauty of the night. _

_"You never gave me a fair chance." Matthew uttered quietly, his back turned towards her. She couldn't tell how he'd known it was her, but thought it was probably her perfume. _

_"Love is not fair." She replied in an equally faint voice, walking over to stand beside him and before the rails overlooking Harmony's breathtaking ocean. _

_"It's not." He agreed, smiling dimly as he tilted his head to watch her profile. After a moment's hesitation, he handed her his bitter drink and she readily accepted, raising the small glass to her mouth and finishing it off. "So I take it you're in love with him." _

_She shrugged. "Maybe." Her honesty had the most peculiar way of abandoning her when it came to talking about her emotions. _

_"You know I always thought that we'd have a chance one day at starting a life of our own…" _

_"Clearly." Sheridan mused, shifting her gaze to meet his watchful one. _

_"I thought you wanted that too." His tone was more accusing than nostalgic, drawing a frown from her. "You always came back to me in the end." Matt added this time more softly. _

_"We were good friends." She closed her eyes when his warm hand touched her face. The weather was cold and she felt the chills running all over her nude back. His touch was a welcome advance, so caring, so different from what she and Luis rarely shared._

_"We were lovers." He corrected, his hand leaving her face to rest against her back, rubbing the smooth skin. Right then, she was glad no one could see them. They were hidden behind the balcony's wall and unless someone was watching them which wasn't probable, no one would choose the particular angle such that he could catch a glimpse of them. _

_"Occasionally." Sheridan breathed, aware as he quietly drew her into his arms. "I'm sorry it can never be." It was a murmured statement she wasn't sure that she meant. _

_Matthew nodded his head in acquiescence. "I'm sorry too, more than you will ever know." Their eyes connected and she knew what was coming next. Tilting her head upwards, she caught his descending lips in a soft kiss, one between friends, between past lovers. There was no passion in the caress. _

_"This is our goodbye as ever being lovers." Her voice was soft but clarifying. _

_He smiled as she slipped out of his embrace and returned to her original position of watching the raging ocean. "You should've told me before we kissed." He joked, but she knew he was only half teasing. _

_"I…" The doors suddenly being forced open startled her. Sheridan looked behind her to find Luis stepping onto the terrace. "Darling, what are you doing here?" She sounded surprised more than anything which only served as fuel for his flaring anger. She should have been guilty, not falsely sweet. _

_"I would ask you the same thing, but I thought that we should be leaving." _

After that, she'd brushed a kiss against Matt's shaven cheek and ignored his whispered 'are you happy?'. The action was visibly to Luis's dismay as he glaringly told her to hurry up and hastily tossed her mink coat at her. It seemed like only a few moments later that they'd left the party. Luis didn't talk to her at any point in the whole ordeal except to ask her if she had her keys because he'd forgotten his in the office. Her reply was simply by dangling the golden chain before him.

Sheridan sighed as she left her purse in the living room and walked into her room. Luis followed quietly, sliding the jacket off of his broad shoulders and setting it aside. Pretending not to notice or mind his presence, she sat before her vanity table and carefully removed her studded diamond earrings, a wedding gift—from Luis.

"Let's talk." He ordered in a controlled voice.

"I get the impression this activity isn't one of your favorite pastimes." A wry smile formed on her lips to accompany the witty tone by which she spoke.

"Let's talk." Luis repeated, appearing to ignore her sarcastic remark.

Sheridan shrugged, looking at him in the mirror as he sat on their… her bed. "Let's." She whispered in detached agreement.

"You overdid it today with lover-boy Laurence."

The same deep laugh that both annoyed him and turned him on escaped her throat in a strain of breathlessness. "You and the little Miss Simmons did well on your own. I'm sure the two of you have had better evenings, but tonight must have been exciting to dare and make passes in front of the wife."

His jaw clenched in silent rage. "I see 'the wife' isn't being completely honest tonight. What happened to the cozy kiss you shared with 'Matt' right before we left?"

She rolled her blue eyes. "Cozy is the perfect word. I couldn't have described it better myself." Her voice faded off and she sighed as she left her chair and quietly paced the large bedroom. Luis was impatiently tugging at the tie around his neck. "The kiss was nothing compared to your actions, your distraction." Her small hands covered his over the black tie. Luis quickly pulled them away and stared at her in silent wonder. She offered no explanation as she relieved him of the pressure the satin cloth imposed on his breathing.

"I don't see how it's alright for you to kiss an ex-boyfriend and so horrible for me to hang around a relative…"

"Whom you sleep with." She finished off helpfully, her knuckles lightly grazing his cheek as she turned away from him. The powerful hand that gripped her own stilled her attempt at walking away. He pulled her back towards the bed, standing when she was close enough. His arms encircled her slender waist and his lips hovered inches away from her own. She closed her eyes, released an uneven breath, and pulled away from his embrace.

"Don't." He whispered, wrapping his arms more firmly around her. "Just don't." His lips ran along her jaw as his fingers traced her spine, making her shiver. Even if there was anything to say, she wouldn't have been able to talk. She just stood there, taking anything he gave her. And he gave her so little. Nevertheless she took it, knowing no protest.

Sheridan brought a hand to his face and cupped his coarse cheek. The prickles he never bothered to shave stung the sensitive skin of her neck, and for a moment she felt she would cry at the falseness of it all. Her heart lurched when his left hand lowered the strap of her beige dress. The expensive gown pooled at her feet as he released the second strap and gently tugged at it. Luis didn't look at her; he simply covered the exposed skin with his hands and pressed her closer against his body. His tongue darted out to touch her collarbone and it lingered there as he slowly turned them around. The support of his embrace left her and she fell back against the softness of the king-sized bed.

He smiled a tiny smile as she lied there with nothing covering her body but a flimsy skin-colored bra and laced panties. Golden lashes fluttered as her eyes opened, their color a shock of sapphire blue. She had beautiful eyes. The sardonic smile on her pink lips drew him back to the moment and she raised her arms in beckoning. "Come here." Her request was a mere whisper in the silent room and he found no choice in complying. The length of his body covered hers, sending a wave of heat coursing through her scantly hidden body. Groaning under the added weight, the mattress shifted to fall slightly where they were.

Luis's touch through the thin lace had her moaning and clutching at his shoulders. Just when she sucked in an erratic breath, his fingers drifted away. And she thought she would die from this craving she'd had for the release he wouldn't even give her. The intention to satisfy her hadn't existed in the first place.

The pad of his thumb swept over the soft skin of her flushed cheek. For a few moments she couldn't feel his lips blazing a path across her neck while he continued the almost sweet caress to her face. She opened her eyes to the image of his handsome face dangerously close to her own, and his dark eyes gazing into hers.

"I never want to see you kissing him again." He hissed heatedly, bracing his arm as he quietly slid off the bed. Calmly he walked out of the room and seconds later she heard the guest bedroom's door slam shut.

She stayed there exactly as he'd left her for an hour, thinking, feeling, missing his touch and resenting it all the same. It surprised her that for a few minutes she thought about Matthew. She reflected on his impression, his knowing somehow that she wasn't exactly on cloud number nine. The breathed question was hopelessly clear.

_"Are you happy?" _

Hell no. She was miserable. Her own husband made her feel like a whore. An unwanted one at that. Their sexual encounters of late never got past the kissing, the touching, the torture. Luis hadn't had sex with her ever since their honeymoon. She didn't know whether that had played a part in making her kiss Matt or it was that Luis was more than comfortable around his mistress. His cheating oddly didn't matter. So he slept with Monica Simmons. He wasn't sleeping with _her_; that was for sure.

It all came back to their sham of a marriage. The marriage was a spur of the moment kind of thing. The type that happened after being swept on a cloud of emotion, after a one-night stand with the perfect man that a marriage proposal didn't seem so odd. She couldn't deny that the moment their eyes had met at the awfully fetid night-club… she'd felt something. His dark eyes had twinkled with mischief and with such lighthearted playfulness. They were warm, admiring and he was so handsome. So damn good-looking, she wouldn't have denied anything he'd ask for. And she hadn't…

_"Sheridan Crane." She smiled flirtatiously, sliding a silky hand into his outstretched one and shaking it lightly. _

_"Nice to meet you." His voice was deep and enticing. "I'm Luis Lopez." The roguishly handsome stranger released her hand after holding it for a moment too long. "Would it be too typical if I offered you a drink?" _

_Sheridan laughed at the seriousness in his voice. "Would it be typical if I accepted?" She raised a golden eyebrow challengingly. Luis simply smiled and glanced at the drink already in his hand right before a very drunk girl knocked him forward, spilling the whiskey all over the front of her fuchsia tube top. _

He had apologized profusely but miserably failed at trying to look sorry. She'd known he wasn't sorry. And at the time, by all means, she hadn't minded. She'd loved that about him. After an hour of eye contact and a few minutes of introductory conversation, he'd managed to draw her to him in a way that she hadn't felt about anyone. The whiskey had eventually dried off and they'd shared a few drinks that same night. He didn't talk much. It was mystifying. She hadn't met a lot of silent men. In fact, until then she had never been with anyone who was so drawn back. His eyes said a lot more than he did. And the way he'd looked at her was alluring. It had oozed with wanton lust.

It was inevitable that they slept together… at his place. She'd been taken aback by the luxurious three-bedroom apartment. Obviously, he was rich. The notion gave her a moment of doubt, but it melted away the second he covered her lips with his own and kissed her. The sex was beyond description. It was incredible… earth-shattering.

_Sheridan stretched her arms languidly, smiling at the memory of the night before. Her eyes slowly fluttered open to be met with a flood of golden sunlight. It felt amazingly warm. She looked at the empty bed and decided he'd probably left to avoid putting them both in an uncomfortable position. People never quite knew what to say after a one-night stand, and that was precisely what had happened between them last night. A huge part of her was relieved and thankful that he'd left her to gather her things and go back home… _

_Her thoughts were dismissed immediately when she sat up slightly and found him fully dressed and leaning against the mahogany chest of drawers. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. There was a disturbed serenity about his face. Sheridan knew she was staring; suddenly she didn't know what to think about this awkward mess. _

_"Good morning." Luis's voice filled the spacious room. _

_A lazy smile traced her lips. "I should leave." She murmured, the unease dissipating as she wrapped his dark sheets around her naked body and started to place her feet on the fake parquet. His next words stilled her. _

_"Marry me." _


	4. Chapter Three

_So the third chapter. . . Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy and please R & R._

**Chapter Three**

She had the most eccentric case of confusion that tossed her back and forth—like a battered dime being used in a timeless contest of heads or tails. Confusion, itself, had a distinct talent for leaving her in a depressed mood that she had eventually learned to deal with as yet another obstacle to overcome in the battle of shining… and outshining all others who dared to challenge her in a game that was very well her own. Winning wasn't the gratification it was made to be. On the contrary, it was obligatory and tiring, and so wholly dissatisfying to a degree often tempting her to turn and seek peace in an eternal hideaway.

Her husband was once thought of as an overcoming victory, one won in a challenge with no contestants. Himself, he presented a challenge, a shady one at that. So foreign to her familiarly confined world, he had been an endeavor she'd flaunted before her parents, simply because he'd swept her off her feet and because there had been the slightest chance her father wouldn't approve. Her mother had felt faint upon hearing the abrupt announcement, all but pleasing Sheridan. As for Alistair, she'd practically seen the steam flaring from every pore on his massaged, polished, and fit body.

She'd known that he had an unconcealed desire to marry her off to Matthew Laurence who'd also expressed the same desire to her on more than one occasion. It wasn't that she'd minded Matthew, but he'd failed continuously at charming her, of course not overlooking the fact that Matthew was her father's choice. Even if she'd really wanted to marry him, she wouldn't have. It was simply cruel, seeing as her father really did care about her—his only daughter, the one and only heiress to the Crane Empire and inestimable fortune. Plainly put, she hadn't wanted to be the perfect daughter who married the right man and did all the right things. That night, at the bar, where she'd met Luis, she had discovered her being the same exact person she never thought she'd be. The realization and his undeniable dark charm led her to his apartment and later on to his side at every social event.

Understandably, Matthew had been hurt. After all, before he'd left on an extended business trip to Switzerland, they'd gotten rather—involved—again. It had been only natural for her to seek him after breaking up with Aaron Green, and that usually led to their spending the night together and him getting attached to her… again. She'd finally admitted then that she didn't want Matthew. Going back to him after every disappointment had been a resort to finding someone who would always want her—a lost puppy that mingled around her feet. Sheridan Crane hadn't wanted to get a man she could pick up whenever _she_ pleased; she'd wanted someone with character, someone headstrong, dashing, someone with the ability to make her want to change his mind—not a man who would simply do what she'd asked for.

She'd gotten that.

In her rearview mirror, a pair of incandescent headlights flashed irritably. She frowned, annoyed to be shaken away from her fruitful thoughts, and confused as to where she actually was. A quick look around reminded her that she was in the black Mustang she'd chosen to drive earlier that morning, and that the dreadfully expensive car was parked in the middle of the road leading to the Crane Mansion, luckily the road belonged to the estate. Realizing that, Sheridan poked her golden head outside the window to find out who was stopped behind her. The silver BMW Z8 was Matthew's, and he smiled when he caught sight of her. A teasing horn followed accompanied by the distinct laughter she could clearly hear.

She wasn't amused at all, but she had an alarming hope that the drive to the mansion would allow her to fake some pleasantry when actually facing him. Close to two minutes later, she was parking the car in the enormous garage. And a few seconds after that, Matthew was at her side, kissing her cheek and walking with her up the path to the mansion's front door.

"Married life agrees with you." He observed, still smiling as his hand touched the small of her back in an action so familiar it never seemed odd.

Sheridan laughed, a convenient sound not meant to reveal any glee, and she raised a reluctant hand to push at the gleaming golden button. "I feel like hell." The confession intended to set his compliment aside and to sound as truthful as it was. She _did_ feel like hell. The night before had taken its toll on her, and the weekly ritual of a visit to the Crane Mansion was more of a despised chore than it usually was.

Matthew's smile only widened and even as the pattering of hurried feet was distinctly clear behind the rich, wooden door, he leaned dangerously towards her, his breath a shocking sensation against her ear. Just as the door was pulled open, he hissed vehemently in her ear, "You look like heaven." Appearing to be unaffected by his surprising behavior, she walked into the mansion, her high-heeled boots clicking against the marble floor as she issued a hurried greeting to the unfamiliar maid. He wasn't far behind, and when she entered the empty living room, his smile became that of a suggestive nature. The scowl that overtook her face then was incidental. "You smell like it too." The words seemed to echo, but he did look unusually handsome in his none too formal blue sweater; the color of his eyes made much more vivid by the enhancement.

"What are you doing here?" She hadn't meant for her tone to be so menacing or curt, but it came out like that and she wasn't ready to regret anything.

He shrugged, crossing the room to settle in one of the peach-colored couches with golden imprints of Iranian designs. "Your father sent for me." Another smile curved his lips when a look of cautious curiosity passed across her face. "I wouldn't worry about it, though. It's business-related; I could tell."

"Didn't he go to Crane Industries today?" She couldn't conceal the surprise in her voice.

"I'm afraid not. He said he's feeling rather ill, and that he has engagements here, at the mansion." Matthew trailed off thoughtfully. "I can't imagine what he has to do here."

She could, especially now when her mother finally made an appearance in the living room with her doting husband beside her. When she saw him, she was more shocked than surprised. Luis had never been so… at ease with her family. But she smiled to cover up her disturbance, to not give away the little detail that she hadn't known he was going to be there.

"Hello Mother," Sheridan greeted politely, too occupied to show any fondness towards her.

"Katherine, you look absolutely wonderful." Matthew complimented, kissing the older woman's cheek and basking in her obvious liking to his charming character. He shook Luis's hand with a polite nod and glanced back at Sheridan, trying to figure out if she had been expecting his presence. It wasn't quite clear, but she didn't seem taken aback.

"Hello Matthew… Sheridan, darling, you look splendid. Is that the Dior coat I bought you from Paris?" She smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to her daughter's cool cheek.

"Yes, it is. I thought I'd wear it today. My old coat has long since lost its luster." A smirk Luis didn't particularly warm up to curved her lips upwards. He was right too; a moment later, she grabbed his hand and drew closer to him. Matthew bristled even as Katherine smiled in an ignorant knowledge at the couple. "Darling, I didn't know you were going to pass by here so early." She looked at him sweetly, a false twinkle in her blue eyes.

"The matter couldn't wait." Luis explained, smiling at his own accord when he followed the game she was playing. Catching him off guard, she leaned upwards and gently caught his lips with hers in a chaste kiss. He kissed her back, sliding an arm around her waist beneath the confining white coat. Matthew looked away, disgusted at the display as he settled on an armchair before Katherine who was sitting on the couch and busily scribbling something in her agenda.

"I'm sure it couldn't." She whispered against his face, relieved that they weren't being watched any longer. Her hand cupped his cheek, rubbing against the black stubble covering his dark skin. Sheridan was startled when his hand closed over hers, dragging it away from his face and surprisingly enough to his lips. He kissed her palm, smiling darkly, a slight smile that didn't reveal his gleaming white teeth.

His voice was so low when he finally spoke to the extent that she had to strain to hear him over Matthew's insistent tapping against the carpeted floor. "I'll take this as a promise that my request is being met."

A humorless laugh slid past her lips when she finally found enough strength to pull out of his arms, setting a safe distance between the two of them. She recognized the hazard of being close to such an unpredictable man. Luis frowned then, obviously not expecting such a reaction.

Matthew's brisk: "I'm going to see Alistair" drew a smile and a nod from Sheridan and nothing at all from Luis who was still staring at her, appearing very engrossed in figuring something out. Unlike Matthew, he wasn't unusually handsome, he was devastatingly handsome… breathtakingly handsome in a black turtle neck defining his torso and black denim pants covering his long legs. Clearly, he didn't have any meetings because that would have called for a suit and a tie.

"Stop staring." Sheridan warned flatly, turning away from him and looking at her mother who was still analyzing something about her upcoming engagements. "Mother, I'm going to step out for a while." Katherine nodded distractedly, then again when Luis excused himself and followed her daughter outside the warm mansion and into the biting cold. "What do you want?"

"Let's go inside. It's cold out here." She sensed that he wasn't asking, just merely imposing his demand.

"I don't mind the cold, besides I didn't ask for you to join me." She snapped angrily, trying to remember why she was so mad at him. Last night's events hit her like a ton of bricks. The bastard deserved nothing short of a slap on the face.

"Is that a way for a wife to speak to her husband?" His sounding so serious both amused and angered her further. She had to at least admit that he had gall.

"If there was anything normal about our marriage, I'd tell you." An icy smile conquered her lips as her blue gaze, made colder by the piercing weather, slid to his. He crossed his arms against his chest, meeting her eyes with an intense stare that almost made her look away.

"Stay away from him." He threatened, looking well fit for the posture as the clear words slipped past his lips.

"I think you made that request clear last night, and I haven't changed my mind either. I'll do what pleases me, and if that includes me being around Matthew, then I'll do just that." When his hand suddenly grasped her upper arm tightly, she let out a frightened gasp. His wrath was almost tangible if not visible.

"Don't play games with me, Sheridan." He jeered, angrier now than he was before as he pulled her towards him, his other hand grasping her chin. Forcing her eyes to meet his wasn't as easy as he'd originally thought, especially with a woman as stubborn as Sheridan Crane. She would even close them if she had to, but she didn't—thankfully. For the brief moment he caught them, he managed to pass on his serious misgivings concerning the issue. He didn't trust her, and rightfully so. The sentiment certainly existed in her manual for him. But he was openly cheating with his so-called relative and God knew who else. She, on the other hand, only gave him food for doubt when he'd witnessed her kissing Matthew Laurence the night before. Their cases were incomparable, and she would've told him just that even if he didn't abruptly release her with a thrust of anger. He said nothing else as he stalked off down the path leading to the garage. Thinking of it now, she'd seen his black Porsche Carrera parked somewhere amidst the myriad of cars. She hadn't identified it as his, not at the time.

Hearing the screeching of tires as he sped off drew her out of her somehow shocked state. She reentered the mansion, making her way again towards the living room. Her mother was giving one of the maids some orders, something about a dinner invitation and the governor's wife. She still hadn't found out why Luis was there in the first place. He wouldn't tell her, that was for sure, but she fully intended to find out if not from him, then from her father.

Luis was up to something, and her instinct told her it wasn't good.


	5. Chapter Four: Hatred is an Art

Hey guys,

As usual, thanks a lot for the reviews. Thanks for reading, and please enjoy. Don't forget to R & R!

**Chapter Four**

_Hatred is an Art_

"Brian O'Leary?" Sheridan paused, racking her brain for the familiarity of the name. Her stomach rumbled insistently at the lack of food in it, and the black coffee she'd downed that morning seemed to swirl within the acidity. The strawberry muffin—the only flavor she'd dared to taste—beckoned her like an evil horn, but she couldn't get herself to reach for it, not with so much on her mind. "Don't think I've heard of him or his family before."

"Yeah, well, I thought so anyway." Gwen Hotchkiss sighed as she added an abundant amount of sugar to her cappuccino. Blowing at the stray golden lock falling across her cheek, she raised the cup to her lips and spoke from behind it. "He said he has no relations and virtually no past to speak of."

Sheridan shrugged and distractedly picked at the edge of their table. Although fairly crowded, the Book Café was hardly ever a place for the two debutantes to be seen socializing. But both their rebellious natures conjured the need to drift against the tide and not with it, even if it meant choking and sputtering. The only setback was that there was no where to reach, not for her and maybe not for Gwen.

The door swung open rowdily and eased Monica Simmons' haughty way into the modest café. Her out of place Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses slid down her nose and into her hand. Gwen raised her eyebrows curiously. "I've seen her before."

"Of course, Monica Simmons is the most upper class whore ever to exist. My husband would happily inform you." Sheridan muttered in reply, shifting her focus back to plucking what she could from the corner of their table and avoiding the stares of the pink muffin. Eating was never an appealing habit to her, especially in late afternoons when she'd barely touched the lunch at her parents' mansion. As much as she pretended to care, Katherine never truly noticed how little her daughter ate or how miserable she truly was.

"I'm sorry." Gwen said softly, her hazel eyes brimming with the sympathy only a friend could offer.

"It's really fine. I've become rather…" She paused once again. "Immune." A nod of her blonde head confirmed that she was pleased with her choice of words even if she doubted them. Through the corners of her eyes, she could see Monica weaving her way to a secluded table in the corner of the café and giving the kind pixie-resembling waitress her order.

Gwen stared at her friend thoughtfully, then smacked her lips as though coming out of a deep, exhausting thought. "I still can't believe it all turned out the way it did."

"Neither can I, sometimes, but I've come to accept it." Sheridan sighed, finally venturing and taking a daring bite out of the fluffy muffin. When she swallowed it down and decided that she didn't like strawberry-flavored products, she looked back to Gwen. "I chose it."

"It doesn't mean you have to condemn yourself…" Another thoughtful expression conquered Gwen's face, but this time a twinkle appeared in her eyes. "Unless you care."

Laughter always had the most untimely emergence, but she resisted and resorted to reflecting upon the suggestion. It really wouldn't have sounded so bad had she not known her husband so well. "I used to." The confession was sheepish and accompanied by a wistful smile. "I don't, anymore."

"He's really that bad?" Gwen scrunched her nose, her incomplete grasp of the situation shining like a gap in the analysis she was trying to impose. The shoulders of her off-white pullover bore the remnants of the once perfect coiffure.

"Even worse." Sheridan murmured in reply, her gaze locking upon the dark figure entering the café. Being the bastard that he usually was, he had to make his rendezvous public, or else her humiliation wouldn't—couldn't—be completed. She summoned her hatred and tried to intensify it, but it seemed to want to abandon her.

Gwen's eyes followed hers, and her jaw slightly slacked when she spotted him. Whether her reaction was because he looked distinctively dashing or because she'd realized his intentions wasn't clear. "Speak of the devil."

"Devil is right." Sheridan agreed, fighting to catch his wandering dark eyes with her own for the sole purpose of bothering him. Almost instantly, Luis glumly spotted them and all but winced as he made his way to their table. Gwen held her breath, anticipating what was to come.

"Hello, Miss Hotchkiss, I believe we've met before." His hand closed around hers in a firm handshake, and Gwen had to resist the insane urge to blush under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Darling, you're late for your date. Monica has been sitting alone for the past… what ten minutes?" She pretended to look at Gwen for confirmation, but the blonde merely shrugged and shrunk back into her seat, looking utterly uncomfortable.

His eyes flew to hers in suppressed anger, his jaw clenching at the smug smile on her face. The vein throbbing in his temple was almost visible. "We need to talk."

From her place, Monica watched with apprehensive dismay.

"Talk? Who needs to talk?" Smirking, she stepped out of reach when he extended a hand towards her elbow. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you any longer. You should…"

"Now." He cut her off, staring into her eyes with a look that could kill at any time of the day, but Sheridan Crane wasn't about to fall for that. She'd been recipient to one too many of the outmoded glowers.

"No!" She folded her arms under her breasts and dared him with her eyes to do anything to embarrass them any further.

Bullying the threat wasn't beneath him. "Excuse us, Miss Hotchkiss." With a determined stance, he stepped closer towards her, wrapped a strong, firm arm around her shoulders, and wordlessly walked her outside the café. Her struggle throughout the way only served to draw eyes towards them and thus to deflate the fight she was trying to maintain. When she finally managed to free herself of his hold, she knew it was because he'd let her.

"Never do something like that again." He ordered, pacing the pavement before her much as a caged beast would. The tiny alley they'd slipped into was deserted and spooky, the only familiarity about it the back door to the Book Café. He could kill her if he wanted to, and then the whole world would mildly comprehend the whirlwind she'd stepped into almost half a year ago, one she desperately wanted to put an end to.

"I'll do whatever I please, and you know that." She hugged herself briskly, blue eyes darting back and forth with his every movement. It felt ridiculous to follow his movements with her eyes, almost as ridiculous as she'd felt watching a tennis match between her mother and father as a child. A grown woman, she couldn't believe she'd actually pretended to like those.

Stopping, he half-turned to glare at her. "I'm your husband, and you'll do whatever I say or else…"

"Why are you doing this to me?" Despite the emotion behind the words, there wasn't a trace of it in her voice. She managed a calm, cold tone that seemed to shock him. Considerably, it was a gift she would always thank God for—the ability to keep her sanity in check.

"Doing what to you?" Luis drawled, facing her in one swift movement and standing directly before her. Sheridan stood firm, refusing to allow him to intimidate her and raised her chin to meet his questioning eyes evenly. But they both knew she wasn't about to answer that question. "Doing what?" He asked, his voice softer, his tone more forceful, and his arm startlingly slid around her waist, hauling her against him and leaving his face inches away from her own.

Her breathing came in hard, ragged pants and she tried all she could to push him away, bracing her hands on his solid chest, struggling furiously, but it was useless. Biting him was an insane urge that crept into her consciousness, but she let it go just thinking of how furious he'd be if she did. Obviously, he was stronger than she was, and oddly the fact made her despise him even more. "I hate you." She spat indignantly, ignoring the moisture stinging the back of her eyes like little needles and sounding like she meant it.

Catching her chin with his free hand, he held her head still and gazed deeply at her face, seemingly searching for something he couldn't find. "Don't say that." He bid quietly, his eyes dark and unreadable in the frosty alley. It was murkier there, chilling, the barely seen sky a turmoil of gray and black.

She chose not to fight what he imposed on her, instead drawing an emotional posture that protected her heart and mind and closing her eyes against his. The caress of his breath down the side of her face was numbing, dizzying, but warming. Try as she might, she couldn't find the strength to ignore it and focus on her feelings of contempt. Feathery and only slightly ticklish, the stroke of his lips lingered for a moment on her temple before his face burrowed in the strands of her silken, golden hair. His hand no longer found the need to hold her head still, finding her transfixed with the sensations rather than with force. It joined his face in her hair, fingering the soft wisps then sliding to cup the back of her neck. The cold that had managed to grip her spine from the small of her back and all the way up to her neck now melted like a cube of ice held over a roaring flame. Before she could comprehend what was happening, his lips covered hers in a tender kiss. A tender, sweet kiss she wasn't aware Luis could give, but he could and he did. His mouth closed over hers, drawing her bottom lip and gently sipping it. His aromatic embrace engulfed her like a perfumed blanket, its scent dazzling in its absolute zest.

She thought it too good to last forever when it ended, and he thrust away from her with a look in his eyes so wondrous and questioning that she had the desire to explain to him exactly what had happened. His dark eyebrows drew together, and he looked down at his hands and around at the smoky alley, then staggered backwards as if in disbelief. Talking to him couldn't be an option at that point, not when he was so confused. His dark eyes met hers, shielded and masked, but alight with something she couldn't quite place.

"You don't hate me." He realized softly, speaking more to himself than to her. A warrior facing a naked enemy. Upon earning no response whatsoever, Luis found it only safe to leave it at that and flee the setting, sweeping past the Book Café and into his black car. For the second time that day, she heard the engine rev to life and the squeal of the tires as he left.

A small torch of triumph lit up inside of her. He'd left Monica behind. The glory was for something unknown, undefined. She shouldn't have cared, but maybe she did. Maybe she wanted to. With her small uncalled for gift in mind, Sheridan reentered the café and headed over to where Gwen was seated. She ignored the questioning look and glanced in amusement at her empty plate. Some things, at least, remained as a droll escape from the terrible and baffling reality she had to live.

"I'm sorry." Gwen mumbled guiltily. "It looked good, and I'm hungry…"

"It's okay." Sheridan's soft laughter drew an uncertain smile from her friend. "I didn't like it anyway."

Gwen straightened in her seat and wiggled her eyebrows Monica's way for Sheridan to look. The bristling brunette put on an admirable show as she paid her check and burst out of the café angrily. Another giggle stole past Sheridan's lips while Gwen just smirked in amusement.

"What happened?"

Sheridan's small smile was significant. "I have no idea." At Gwen's questioning look, she simply shrugged and tried to look as sincere as she was. All she knew was that she didn't want to talk about it. There was no use in exploring something with a surface so difficult to scratch off. Their encounter was one of many, and she hated to grasp onto needles in mountains of straw. If there was anything different about it, it was that Luis had finally spoken about something related to feelings. It confirmed that he knew of their existence… a slight relief. "Tell me about this Brian."

Gwen's hazel eyes lit up beneath the coat of black mascara. "He has the most amazing eyes you'd ever see. They're blue, but a really light blue… um… just like Matthew's color-wise. But they're as intense as anything could get. It seems he's been through some rough stuff, and I wouldn't be surprised… he totally seemed like it. I guess, he's just a bit shorter than Luis, but I'm telling you he has a body _to die for_!"

Sheridan rolled her eyes humorously and reserved the smile on her face. Deriving amusement from her best friend's antics was a comforting light in her life. "Where did you meet this prince charming?"

The dramatic sigh Gwen gave made her quirk an eyebrow in interest. "We met at Bianca's dinner last night."

"I thought that was only for women." Confusion colored Sheridan's voice.

"It was!" Gwen confirmed, still smiling mischievously.

"And how exactly did this Brian make it to a dinner for women?" She hadn't meant to sound as degrading or puzzled as she did, but that was almost uncontrollable.

"Sheridan! I thought you were smarter than that." Gwen huffed impatiently, digging into her purse for chewing gum and hoping Sheridan would understand by then. But clearly and unfortunately, the other woman wasn't absorbing it and wasn't showing any signs of doing so anytime soon either. She sighed and looked into her blue eyes in irritation. "He was the waiter."

Even as she was stepping into the mansion, Sheridan couldn't help smiling over Gwen's excitement concerning a hot waiter. A waiter! The tabloids were sure to feast over this. She could see it clearly: Hotchkiss Heiress Clings to Charming Waiter. Jonathan Hotchkiss would certainly suffer another stroke. Rebecca's screech would be heard all the way over in China. And poor Gwen would have to deal with it all. Blasted maître d' had to look his best and entangle her friend within his simple charms. It was pathetic, even for Gwen. But she had to praise her for the courage she had, standing up to their norms like that… it certainly required guts.

The thoughts fled her mind when she entered the dark living room, illuminated by a single candlestick melting onto its holder like a beaten child. It made the raindrops on the window glisten with its glow. Her husband certainly appreciated beauty. The rain had started the instant they'd decided to leave the Book Café--pure luck and nothing else. Their pale blue couch looked even pastier with no lights on, and Luis was lying on it, his eyes closed, the glass of brandy resting on his chest, his hand supporting it against the gentle heaving. She neared him and kneeled beside him, dumping her purse on the ground in the process.

"Luis?"

His eyes shot open just as a rare smile curved his lips, one that conveyed that he'd been waiting for her. Effortlessly, he sat up on the couch and faced her, looking down at her stooping form. After setting the glass aside by the candle, his hands covered her shoulders. The look in his eyes was intense and serene. Touching a finger to her chin, he leaned in to place a brief kiss on her lips, merely brushing against them, in a touch so gentle it reminded her of a butterfly's wings. Her heart dropped to somewhere within the vicinity of her stomach, beating furiously as his mouth continued to softly assault hers. She cupped his face and pulled away slightly to gaze into his eyes.

Fear seeped frantically throughout her body, a loud, noisy warning that she managed to ignore. "Luis, I…"

The pads of his fingers applied a gentle pressure against her lips. "I don't like talking."

She averted the consuming passion in his smoldering black eyes and stared at the fibers of the Indian carpet beneath her. "I know."

"Good." He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her forehead and ran a hand over her golden hair, threading his fingers through the curls much as he'd done earlier. She wondered if he could possibly know that the act moved her, deeply, with its tenderness, and the adoration by which he carried it out.

Covering his hands with her own, she pulled them back to her face, kissed them, then leaned in and brushed her lips softly against his. "I want to talk."

A frown marred his face, but his eyes remained with hers unable to tear away. Submission wasn't one of his stronger traits, but Luis was willing to listen, at least for a while. "I'll listen." He knew he wasn't drunk but felt peculiarly at ease and could find nothing to blame it on.

"I want _you_ to talk."

That caused him to back away, resting his back against the rich couch as if telling her that she'd pushed too far. She followed, sliding through his open knees and placing her hands on his neck. Feeling particularly daring and finding him unusually responsive encouraged her. He smirked as he drew his knees closer together, trapping her, but she thought nothing of it. And if she did, she never showed it. Laying her head onto his shoulder, she tenderly nuzzled his neck and slid her hand over his chest, caressing him.

"Tell me about your family, Luis."

He stiffened and turned his head away, thinking of how peacefully the flickering candlelight surrounded them and of how beautiful she looked in it. "They're dead."

"But they existed. They're worth mentioning."

"No one is."

"Not one of them?"

"No one dead is worth mentioning."

"That's a horrible thing to say." She whispered, her tone static even as the pattering of the rain provided a rhythmic background.

"I'm a horrible person."

"I know you'd like to be, but you're not."

He laughed mirthlessly and glanced down at her with hard eyes. "You'd be surprised."

"What were you doing at the mansion?" The senseless tone by which she spoke to him made him want to turn gray and old instantly. She made him feel like a child, and the innocence of that could not be found and held in the deepest cornices of his heart, his soul. Stripped and beaten, the child within him fled decades ago so that it hardly ever existed. Even within the evil gleams of his passion, he could barely see himself as a man. Before his own eyes, he was merely a creature, dark and emotionless. A steel and granite remainder embodied with flesh and blood, made more vibrant with irises and hair, enhanced with desire by a nature so cold to him.

Deliberately ignoring her inquiry, his arms came around her in a tight embrace that allowed him to lift her against him as he stood as though she weighed no more than a purring cat. He laid her onto the couch and stretched over her, grazing a hand to the soft skin of her cheek and smiling in such a way one would to an inside joke. The lids of her eyes fanned before they finally covered the deep inlaid sapphire sparkling against the ivory of her skin. Bracing his knee on the edge of the sofa, he stopped his face a breath away from her throat.

"I promised myself never to touch you." He hissed the admission like a prayer, waiting to be answered. The sapphires glistened once again, confused, indignant and belittled before the power he stood for.

"I'm your wife." She murmured, hesitant to reach out and touch him even though she wanted to.

"Precisely because you're my wife."

They sparkled to a deeper shade of blue, leaving the gems behind and beckoning the ocean on a stormy night. Their color was velvety and entrancing. It could capture him for an eternity, and he wouldn't tire of looking into them.

"When I have you, there is no reason for me to claim you." His lips sheathed her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin and leaving the gentle marks of a nonexistent lover. The stubble on his chin imprinted whisker burns that stung not only physically but also the exposed wound in her heart.

"You married me for that?" Within her breathless voice, he could hear the despair and the success of his mission. It didn't comfort him, nor did it pacify his soul. The sole condolence was a promise of a lengthier pain, a more disturbed existence.

"No," He spoke quietly, retreating like a wounded soldier as he stared at her and waited for the flash of azure to reemerge. When it did, his voice filled the silence. "I married you to torture you."

The tears she often fought so well slid freely down her cheeks, and she wiped them away nonchalantly, hating his existence and wishing she could torment him half as well as he did her. He looked away, unable to inspect the rare display. Something within him stirred, something untouched, unsheltered. Something that should have never been disturbed.

He thrust away from the couch and strode on bare feet across the carpeted floor until he reached the window and brought his fists gently against it. The neatness of his hands bothered him. They had never been so well-groomed. His knuckles glided over the glass smoothly, safe from the droplets outside. He hated it, desperately wanting back the blistered, bloody fingers he had known before the masquerade began.

"I'm doing a good job at it." This time, he didn't turn to face her, all too engrossed in the drama outside. Even the rain's slapping, the booming thunder, and the flashing lightening couldn't shield his ears against her quiet sobs. The untouched, unused place within him throbbed for an instant before he crushed it down. "I told you, I'm a horrible person."

When she finally spoke, her voice was surprisingly clear and strong. "I'm starting to believe it."


	6. Chapter Five: Not Crazy, Haunted

Hey guys,

sorry it's taken me a while to get back to this.

Enjoy, and please review :)

**Chapter Five**

_Not Crazy, Haunted_

Conclusively, it was debatable whether or not he was a horrible person. The only certainty lied in the fact that she was better. Even _he_ could admit it; it was the least she deserved from him. He could admit that it was repulsive comparing her to himself. She deserved someone who considered himself man enough to give her what she needed. Certainly, that didn't mean he was giving her up. In addition to being the horrible person that he was, he had a most concentrated selfishness. His promise never to touch her remained preserved, in tact, an imaginary document signed with a trembling hand, but it definitely didn't mean anyone else was going to. If he couldn't have her, no one else could.

It served to act as another element to add to the list of his horrible traits.

Shifting his shoulder into a more comfortable position of leaning against their bedroom's doorframe, he tried to make the action as silent as possible, unwilling to chance her catching him in a weak moment. Such a damaging scenario would condemn him to a lifetime of mortification. The only consolation he could provide for his gashed pride was that watching her chased away all the haunting thoughts, the gory faces, the tormented cries, the crushed angels. He could actually sleep—not while standing—but he felt peaceful enough to _be_ peaceful. Undoubtedly, there had to be a setback. Only watching her could prove to be a pacifying experience. Being near her extracted an existing ferocity--numb but appallingly cruel—from him. Touching her summoned the faces, the horrid screaming faces with their dead paleness, chattering teeth, bloodshot eyes, and wilting forms. They couldn't physically harm him, but they ate away at his soul, feeding on his heart bit by agonizing bit.

She looked small and fragile cocooned amidst the king-size bed in a cloud of white comforters and pillows. Her hair spread like woven gold, placid and beautifully curled. The occasional lightening cast a glow onto her, one that sought shelter. Loneliness wore her like an old robe, another tormenting aspect to dull a life that should have been throbbing with excitement. Long ago, he would have felt guilty for having robbed her of a vivacity she was born for, but it just came to show that he was a changed man. He felt nothing, or rather he felt good about it.

The forbidden fruit was rightfully his.

He had the most impulsive urge to cross the carpeted floor, wake her up, and tell her that he wanted to sleep—that he wanted her to hold him until he could sleep like the child she addressed. He craved a gentle kiss goodnight, one that matched the recurring caress she had made special for Matthew Laurence. The thought still managed to severely disturb him, and that was precisely what he'd blamed for acting upon an impulse and finding himself sitting at the edge of the huge bed. He stared at her through hooded eyes, her image made clearer, her beauty radiating with tangibility.

With great reluctance, he wrapped his fingers around her bare shoulder and shook her gently. The faces danced tauntingly, mockingly when her eyes jolted open, the irises a vivid blue that constantly managed to shock him. She didn't seem infuriated that he'd scared her awake, especially after their none-too-civil encounter earlier. He had expected a slap, a scream, or a forward speech demanding he leave her room instantly. It was unsettling that none of the options befell the setting. Sheridan merely looked at him curiously, a question living in her eyes, an infectious wonder.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" The stale features laughed openly, their reddened eyes encased by great dark shadows, their cheeks bony, smeared with dirt, eaten away with illness. His breath came short and threatened as his dark, tormented gaze clung to hers in a desperate need to reconnect to reality. The warmth her hand wrought onto his cheek was only a slight comfort against the furious maniacs.

"No," she whispered, caressing his face in a tender touch influenced by a buried, but existing bond and the sympathy she found hard to control. "You're not crazy." Her voice was entrancing, her touch comforting. "You just don't know how to feel."

As biting and insulting as the comment should have been, it slid by unnoticed. "They won't let me," he hissed, eyes darting around frantically before he grasped her hand and held it like one would hold a lifeline in a bottomless pit.

"Who are they?" The confusion in her voice was palpable.

"They're not worth mentioning."

After searching his face for a lengthy moment, she freed her hand of his and slid her arms around his neck, drawing him towards her. He gave into the soothing embrace and rested his lips against her naked shoulder, allowing her to hold him. Her scent was engraved in the bed, a sweet beautiful smell that was all Sheridan. Her skin was soft and warm, devastatingly inviting… completely his. All his. He didn't wrap his arms around her, just surrendered to her comfort and closed his eyes. Slumber danced beyond an impermeable glass wall, summoning him and assuring him that he'd never get it. He opened them once again, stared aimlessly, and felt every touch of her hand over his hair, his neck, his shoulders… a passive caress meant to ease away all that disturbed him.

"Did you cry when your family died?" She spoke softly, her voice vibrating in her chest and against his.

He froze, his once willing body rigid above her. The faces stopped laughing and began wailing instead, salty water mingling with blood. Their chipped teeth fell away with the forces of the deafening sobs and cries of pain and accusation. It wasn't his fault.

"It's not my fault," he said loudly, suddenly pulling completely away from her and looking around angrily. "It's not." His voice grew softer when he looked back at her, baring his soul, uncovering his wounds. The warrior, the soldier, the fighter… all now naked before the once weak enemy. The scars were deep and covered him from head to toe, the pain was real, the suffering visible… and the agony tore at her insides like a chainsaw rooted deep into her stomach.

"What's wrong, Luis?" The tranquility in her voice was a reversed mirror to the tremor growing inside of him.

He looked at her, hard, ignoring the white faces and focusing on just her. The hideous sounds faded slowly and the pattering of the rain grew louder in his ears, like a base drum echoing, in sync with his heartbeat, alongside Sheridan's quiet breathing. Her azure gaze remained with his, held tight, digging the grave of their bond and calling upon it. It was dying, choking, holding onto its last breath, but there was a strength to it. A deep unforeseen strength that they both seemed to recognize at the same instant. It made her bolder, forcing him to snap his gaze away from hers no matter how difficult that proved to be. With the action came the realization that the shadows were gone, and his icy sheath returned to swathe his body like another layer to his skin.

It was sudden. From the look in his eyes, she could tell that the digging would stop. The bond would cry, but it would have to wait until another… another moment. The glint in his eyes told her that his cynicism was back, riding his body like an illness and the great walls surrounding him forfeited his heart against any emotions. No key could open a nonexistent gate.

A tiny smirk curved his lips, as though he had forgotten the posture he had adopted a few moments ago. She wasn't even sure it'd all happened anymore, not when he was approaching her so confidently, and she was suddenly aware of how sexy he looked in the white tank top and loose black sweatpants. When he reached her side, she literally stopped breathing and grudgingly closed her eyes at the touch of his hand against her neck. She shivered, feeling the effect of his touch to the very core of her body and wanting so desperately to resist him. But she knew she wasn't going to. He knew.

His fingers ran along her neck skillfully as he watched her face so utterly content under the ministration. He was smugly feeling like his old self again, to his immense relief. Closing the distance between them, he leaned his forehead against her temple, parted his lips against her cheek, and slid his hand over her shoulder. He could feel the fight brewing inside of her, knew that there should be an explosion and that there wasn't going to be. He nipped at the lobe of her ear, involving his other hand in the crime he was committing. The second explorer brushed against her breast, pleased when she sucked in an unexpected breath. Smiling a secretive smile, he gently tilted her head to the side to cover her lips with his. Their tongues danced in a lovers' game, not fighting, not lashing, but loving. That moment was the perfect one he had chosen to gently ease her into a reclined position, and she went with it not noticing the sudden change with his mouth moving against hers and his tongue sliding past her lips.

Obviously, she became alertly aware when his weight fell atop her and his hand somehow found its way under the top of her summery, cotton pajamas. Her eyes shot open when his lips meshed against hers, but this time, she turned her face away breathing raggedly, and gulping for shallow breaths. She let him continue the torturous assault for a few more moments, then returned to face him once again. He took it as a cue to descend towards her mouth, but she covered his with her hand and took a deep, calming breath.

"No," she whispered. "We can't do this. We're not going to." The protest wasn't nearly as convincing as she would've wanted it to sound, but it was an adequate one that showed him where she stood, at least for now.

"I know you want it." His reply was soft, his lips brushing against her fingertips.

She squeezed her eyes firmly shut against the invitation in his. There was no point in denying it, not when her body was betraying her so unfaithfully and reacting feverishly to his every touch. "I know… I mean I do."

"Then why not just… do it?"

She got an insane vision of the devil incarnate portrayed in the gleams of his handsome face. "It's not right… you promised you wouldn't…"

"Screw my promise," he said forcefully, seemingly trying to forget it himself. If the faces weren't there then the document wouldn't exist. It _didn't_ exist.

Regarding him in the whole silence of a minute with his hands tucked beneath her shirt and holding her waist was a moment when she had to conjure up the strength of her soul and hold onto it. There was no other way she could refuse him. "Luis, I mean it that you should stop now."

He did then, with subtle anger and frustration, and lifted his weight off of her, settling it on the bed beside her, pressing against her side with his leg still straddling both hers. His palm cradled her jaw, and he grazed her lips with his lightly. "I'll stop." The murmur was let out in between the sensual caresses. "Only because I know that I can have you right now… and you'd be willing."

"Hell, yes, physically." A lazy smile conquered his lips at that. "But emotionally, I'm not ready to take that leap with you." He kissed the underside of her jaw and the exposed skin of her neck.

"There are no emotional leaps," he clarified. "Hearts are off limits. Mine is and I'm not searching for yours."

"That's a charming thing to say to your wife," Sheridan uttered quietly, relaxing beneath his drugging touch with the safe knowledge that the encounter wouldn't escalate into something she wasn't prepared for.

"You can love me if you want to." He rested his hand against her abdomen, nuzzling her face with his nose. "Actually," Luis drawled softly. "I want you to love me, Sheridan. I think you can."

"It's quite difficult given the circumstances, don't you think?" Sarcasm oozed from her voice like poison seeping through his blood, pumping to his heart, but he was unaffected—unfazed by the effects.

"It wouldn't change a thing." Realization masked the cockiness in his voice as he pulled up onto his elbow and gazed at her through watchful eyes. "I wouldn't know how to feel it… Matthew would."

"What?" The comment was more of a slap on the face than two complete, pronounced words.

"You know it's rather appalling to think that he's slept with you more than I have when we've been together for around six months now."

From the tone of his voice, she could tell that the thought disturbed and haunted him much more than he was letting on. "That's an odd thing to think about."

"Not really, I hate to think that he's touched you." He touched a hand to her cheek, as if trying to erase the images of Matthew touching her and replacing them with memories of him doing so.

Of course, Matthew had done much more than merely touch her. "I'd really rather not discuss my past lovers right now," Sheridan voiced a protest and inwardly suppressed the consuming inclination she possessed to reach out for him and make love until…

"Did you love him?"

Glancing at him briefly and doing it out of the corners of her eyes, she had to wonder if he was serious but decided replying would be the safest resort. "If I did, I wouldn't have married you."

Luis actually smiled, not a full-fledged, beaming smile, but one that lacked the scorn he preferred to assume. When it wasn't so dark, his smile creased his face into a particularly handsome form, speaking of a spirit he beheld but scarcely used. The idea that he'd liked her answer was pleasing and made her flutter on the inside. He didn't let the connection she'd established last any longer as he placed his feet on the ground and stood, his great shadow towering above her. The loss of warmth chilled her to the bone, but she didn't show it and had a hard time doing so while watching his large frame traverse the room in a number of long strides until he stood at the door.

Hand resting against the doorjamb—perfectly showcasing the muscular arm it belonged to—he half-turned back towards her. "When you first met me," he paused, allowing her to relate to the setting. "You liked me, right?"

She sunk into the bed and stared at the ceiling, the lights from the estate shining faintly through the window and playing against the richly painted walls. Seeing the raindrops in animated sizes, seemingly embossed in the walls, was another form of beauty that materialized. "I did." She wanted him to hear the whisper and so made it faint but clear.

Luis nodded, clutched the golden handle, and gently pulled the door shut after exiting the room.


	7. Chapter Six: Melting the Promise

Hey guys,

sorry it's taken me a while to get back to this.

Enjoy, and please review :)

**Chapter Six**

_ Melting the Promise_

_"Wh-what?" she sputtered disbelievingly, having to constantly remind herself to grip the dark sheets engulfing the nakedness of her body. His large frame didn't waver. Its stillness was more unnerving than anything. _

_"Marry me," he repeated quietly, brown gaze locked on hers. _

_"I hope you're joking." A soft string of threatened laughter left her lips as she shifted on the inviting mattress, diverting his piercing stare and desperately trying to set her thoughts clearly. If he as much as stepped closer, she would be very tempted to take him up on his way-too-early-in-the-morning joke, especially now that she felt a sudden panging headache tickle the frizzles of her nerves. _

_Luis uncrossed his ankles and made his way to the bed, settling beside her... as if reading her thoughts and acting through her fears. His hand ran along the top of the sheet, brushing against her skin, fingers slightly dipping between her breasts. He leaned closer towards her; their lips touched. She closed her eyes and moaned softly when he rubbed his lips against hers for a moment, then traced open-mouthed kisses along her throat. _

_"Don't you want to marry me, Sheridan?" he asked tauntingly, his hand gently easing the sheet away from her body. _

_"I… I don't even know why we're having this conversation," she uttered breathlessly, following the movement of his body until she was lying flat on her back against the mattress. _

_"Because we're going to get married in a week." _

When his mouth had sought hers in a deep, arousing kiss she'd found no point in arguing. They would later discuss the colossal decision that would topple both of their worlds apart. Oddly enough, she seemed to perfectly fit into his world, sliding in like an oiled coin in an empty slot, like he had planned her presence. He had brought up the sudden arrangement, yet it hadn't seemed nearly as impulsive on his side as it did on hers. She had watched her life—good and bad—tumble slowly around her and had looked forward to building it once again _with_ him. Naïve as she'd been, she hadn't counted on her new life to barricade her with the fallen angels Luis imagined.

Her social life had risen beautifully when society's most influential patriarchs finally met Luis Lopez, mysterious only—and sudden—son of the late Don Fernando Lopez, owner of the largest importing company of Spanish tobacco. What he owned was belittled before the man who stood for the wealth. Young, but surpassingly smart he'd gained their admiration as well as their distrust. Such a clever, charismatic, rich man wasn't to be trusted. Alistair Crane was envied for his newly acquired ally. No one would want Luis Lopez as an enemy.

It had nagged at her mind relentlessly that Don Fernando Lopez was said to having died childless. Luis claimed to have family, but then again he never mentioned siblings—nor did he mention a father or a mother. All he spoke about was a general idea of family. Dragging in a confused breath, Sheridan pushed the door to the guest bedroom open. The room was sunny and insensibly big. Pale blue sheets sat in a rumpled mound in the middle of the bed where Luis spent most of his nights, and a single forgotten personal touch rested on the wooden nightstand. Cautiously, she crossed the room and touched it with the illusion of being watched nailed firmly in the back of her mind. The silver necklace had a most peculiar glow in the abundant sunlight, its rounded pendant shining. She'd seen it around his neck often but had never gotten the chance to inspect it closely.

Picking it up, she smoothed the pad of her thumb over the polished metal and frowned slightly at the strangest pendant she had ever come across. It was relatively small and resembled half the outline of a circle that was a few millimeters thick and hollow from the inside in such a way that would allow another piece to fit into it. Turning it over, Sheridan was surprised to find words engraved within the fine silver.

**never die. LLF **

Her brow furrowed with lack of understanding. It didn't make sense.

"What would never die?" she whispered softly, to no one in particular, her frustration growing at yet another mystery in his world of embraced authenticities and illusions. It was exhaustion in its mere simplicity and destructive missiles to decipher the many dark shadows lurking in Luis's past and present. Sheridan Crane prided herself for being a strong woman with an effervescent capability to cope and hinder even with a neck breaking blow to the head. But at a certain point when everything cried out to her with the bleakness of the life she embraced, she couldn't possibly imagine herself weathering yet another obstacle to a murky aim. It wasn't worth it.

**LLF**

Luis Lopez F? It couldn't be. The letters had to stand for something else. There was no "F" in his name that she knew of. Then again, he was an expert in the field of avoiding the truth, better known to the human race as lying. Luis was a proclaimed liar who found it suiting to claim the woman he bedded a close relative. Either that, or he was a sick bastard who fucked his cousin. She found the latter to be too repulsive to consider and safely stuck to the assumption that he was indeed a black belt karate-master in the masterful art of 'avoiding the truth'.

_Ding dong! _

She jumped at the sudden sound, splendid and tingling as it was. The rapid beating of her heart only relaxed when she replaced the necklace on the nightstand and stepped back, surveying the area and noting that it looked exactly as it had when she'd first come in. Only slightly calmer, she walked quickly towards the door and slowly opened it, not wanting to alert her visitor of how jumpy she truly felt.

"Mrs. Lopez, thank God! I thought I was so late that no one was at home." Martha's plump face lit up with an aging smile as she walked into the mansion. Her purse was of genuine leather, so old that it had a particular smell which she carried around like an ornament to such a prized possession. The strap was loose, its black leather casing eaten away with age.

"No, Martha, I haven't gone out yet. I was just about leave, but I got caught up with something," Sheridan explained quickly, taking the white coat from the rack and grabbing the purse left beside it.

"Cook arrives at one o'clock. Is Mr. Lopez arriving early? Should I call and tell him to come sooner?"

"No, one is fine. Luis shouldn't be home before three."

She nodded obediently.

"Goodbye, Martha."

"Sheridan!" Matthew Laurence exclaimed, genuinely and pleasantly surprised as he gently caught her arm and brushed a kiss to her cool cheek. "What brings you by C.I.?"

She took her time releasing her irritated breath and sliding the bulky coat off her shoulders. He relieved her of it quickly, hanging it beside his on the coat hanger in the corner of his office. The action seemed to please him; the sheer intimacy of ridding her of an article of clothing was like a foretold familiarity he relished. His lean, soft hand lingered over the fur coat as he inhaled its scent—hers.

She tried not to clear her throat and agonize him with a death look at the ridicule he was performing before her. "I would like to see my father."

"Of course, I'm sure he'd love to see you. He's engaged at the moment, but that will be over in a few minutes. Would you like to have a seat?" He waved his hand in the direction of the severely ugly leather brown armchairs in front of his desk while he stood behind it, blue eyes sparkling her way. His admiration was intolerable and struck her as childish and obsessive.

She nodded in displeased agreement and quietly rested in one of the identically worn chairs. Methodically, he sat in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk. He was wearing a white button-up shirt that he didn't fill up quite as well or as much as Luis did. It hadn't caught on the bicep of his arm when he'd lifted her coat, and it wasn't hanging on the defined muscles of his chest.

When he cleared his throat, she managed to force Luis-oriented thoughts away from her mind even though her visit _was_ Luis-oriented. His dull, dark blue tie was boring, too, she noted with dismay.

"Did Alistair call for you?" He questioned curiously, following her every movement like a scientist fussing over his creation.

"No, I don't need a reason to visit my father, Matthew. Why are you acting like a detective on a mission?" Sheridan snapped angrily, trying not to look as apologetic as she felt. The bastard just had a way of looking so innocent.

"I'm sorry." With a humble smile, he lifted his arms up into the air. "I was just trying to make conversation."

"It's alright. I'm just a bit on the edge." _And entirely not in the mood to deal with you_, she added mentally.

"You look beautiful."

Biting her lip, she ran her left hand over her face, flashing the wedding ring his way purposefully. It wasn't a challenging task for the heavy rock to reflect the light and for some of those rays to shine annoyingly in his eyes. "Matthew…"

He swallowed her subtle signal physically. "What? I'm just saying the truth."

She nodded tiredly, deciding to ignore him, just as a young gentleman emerged from the door adjoining Matthew's office with her father's. He bowed his head courteously their way and resumed his quick step out of the office without a hitch. The way businessmen walked irritated her. They had purposefully long strides that were quicker than they appeared that they could manage and so untouchable. It was one of those simple things she'd so admired about her husband. He was a businessman who didn't walk like businessmen. He just strolled or breezed in a smooth way that could creep up on you if you weren't looking and totally attract you if you were.

Sheridan knocked softly on the connecting door before she walked into Alistair's office and closed the door. The air was laden with the smell of cigars and coffee and damp wood. It was potent enough to dizzy her for a few moments.

"Sheridan, what a pleasant surprise!" The obnoxious voice that had terrified her as a child now did little to feather her emotions. Solely as a child had he found it necessary to frighten her. As she'd grown, he'd become closer to her and had tried to show her how much he truly cared about his only daughter. She couldn't deem his attempts completely failed or absolutely lucrative. Love didn't exist in the manual she held for her father. Alistair was just Father; not loving father, not adored father. Her sentiments concerning him bordered on affection, earthly affection, the warmest kind to be born within the walls of aristocracy. It was almost the same way she felt about her mother, but Katherine was too… vivid to not deserve an ounce of admiration that was dampened by the distractedness she had fallen hostage to.

A halfhearted smile held her lips as she went around his desk and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Hello, Father."

"I didn't know you were coming by." A tiny muscle running along the line of his moustache twitched relentlessly like a life pulse, proving an existence. It was a sign of anxiety.

She frowned, restlessly leaning against his desk and staring at him. "I thought it would be alright."

"It was… I mean it is!" Alistair cleared his throat and tugged slightly at the dark gray tie around his neck.

Elegant, she smiled, and matching the color of his hair. Looking down, she played with her nails and pondered silently whether to divert the subject and then lead him to it eventually. "What was my husband doing at the mansion the other day?" Cutting the chase appealed to her much more.

He laughed; the twitch increased relatively, but he appeared collected and nonchalant. Popping open his cigar box, he retrieved one, circumcised its end with an absurd tool resembling a medieval head-chopper and caught it between his teeth. "Sheridan, dear, business is for men. Go buy a new coat or a pair of shoes or whatever it is you spend your days doing."

Visibly fuming but proficiently hiding it, she slid into one of the chairs surrounding his vast desk and gripped the edge of the dark wood. "This is important, Father. I need to know." There was a pleading sense to her tone that she despised but had no control over.

"Don't worry yourself, dear. It's just business." He shrugged, smiling slightly, but he was uneasy. She could tell.

Whatever it was Luis wanted from him wasn't settling right in Alistair Crane's mind. She braced her elbows on her knees, leaned forward and dropped her head between her hands. "Is it risky?" Her muffled voice sounded as if she were strangling. Secretly, she hoped she was, so that she could escape all the inevitable suffering she divined.

"Business is usually risky."

"How risky, Father?" Blue eyes captured his gray ones in palpable concern and mild fear.

He leaned back against his chair and lit his cigar, inhaling deeply before he set it on a needlessly bulky crystal ashtray before him. "Very," he admitted.

Her blonde head bobbed up and down in an unconscious nod, but her insides screamed with the feeling they regarded. He would name her ridiculous if she spoke of her fears, and she didn't need that. Not from him, not from Luis… not from anyone.

"Is that all, Sheridan?" His Rolex gleamed as he stared at it for a reflecting moment.

"Yes." She stood up, smoothing the beige velvety skirt that had climbed a couple of inches up her legs. "Say hello to Mother."

"Of course."

At the door, Sheridan paused and turned back towards him slightly. She parted her lips, took a deep breath then shook her head and walked directly into Matthew's office before she could change her mind again.

The door clicked shut.

Matthew stood to greet her back into his office, seeming more delighted now than he was before. "Will you stay for a while? I can have them bring you some coffee…"

"No, thank you. I'd rather just go home."

He followed her to the entrance and caught her wrist before she could step out. "Sheridan…"

"What?" Wide with surprise and trivial disbelief, her eyes pinned him with an even glower. They both knew he was fighting a losing battle. She didn't know why she had him so defeated. He wasn't an enemy, and she could use him as an ally. Pushing back the sudden thoughts, she blew out an impatient breath. Despite the fact that Luis would deserve it if she cheated on him, she couldn't possibly find it in her to do that to him. Besides, he would probably kill Matthew which wasn't something she wanted. Not at the moment, anyway.

"Can we have dinner tomorrow?"

Slapping him would have been wonderful, but she decided against it. Scenes weren't in her best interest. "No."

"Why?"

"I can't," she lied and tugged her hand away.

"After tomorrow?"

"No!"

"How about Friday?" Grasping at needles in piles and piles of straw. His eyes were pleading… pathetic and so completely devoted to her.

"No." Her voice was softer, her tone kinder. Smiling lightly, she placed a hand over one cheek and leaned towards him, pressing an innocent kiss to his other one. "Not any other day either."

"I know. I just thought I'd take a shot." He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly and stepped backwards, watching as she shook her head in disapproval before she disappeared from his office. Less than a year ago, he hadn't been able to stay away from the fiery Miss Crane—even after several rejections—his hope had stood out and paid off the many times she had come seeking acceptance in his arms. And now, he couldn't foresee ever letting go of the elegant Mrs. Lopez, even if it took her years to realize that she couldn't possibly continue a life without his presence.

It was after eight when she finally returned to the mansion after an exhausting visit to Harmony's _ Children's Cancer Center_. She felt emotionally drained and so wholly useless that she had the urge to call the world and tell everyone how pathetic her problems were in comparison to others. While she fought her husband to oblivion, digging into the shallow yet endless pit of his life, tiny children were battling for their lives. She felt… petty. And rightfully so. The children were fighters for their lives, but their defeat was almost inevitable if there wasn't any miraculous intervention. Her fight was for… for her life, too, just in a different sense. If she lost her battle, she would rather die than live a miserable life alongside a man who often couldn't bear looking at her. It was simple when she thought of it. Luis was her cancer, in a more creative and tormenting way… only less physically painful.

It had started raining again, thankfully after she'd left the center. Winter nights in Harmony could only be described as rainy. Sometimes there wasn't a storm, but there would be rain. The farmer she'd met on one of her charity trips had told her it was a blessing… that love grew in the rain like plants, that the rain washed away all rotten things, that it might kill something but it gave life to so many others… he made it sound as though some things just die to make way for others. It was ridiculous, but he was such a darling old man with too many children to count and more grandchildren than he knew of.

Shivering, she entered the mansion to be met with its customary absolute darkness. Rich laughter spilled faintly from the living room down the hall—Luis's laughter. She closed the door as quietly as possible and stealthily crept along the hallway, breathing quietly and straining her ears to drop a few notches on the scale of pride and eavesdrop on her husband's conversations.

"Perfect, Richmond. Just perfect... Of course, the shipment will be held in as a priority next week… By next month, then… I'll be waiting… No problem…"

Between the pounding of the rain and the constant hum of the television, she could barely hear a thing even with her ear pressed firmly against the door. It was darker in the corridor and colder, desolate enough for her childish fears of darkness to return to haunt her at such an unlikely time.

"It's been a real pleasure dealing with you…"

His footsteps were suddenly clearer, his voice louder. Closing her eyes, she held her breath.

"We'll meet tomorrow for lunch to finalize the contract…"

In a sudden swift movement, the door swung open. She tumbled forward, gasping audibly and falling against his chest in the mingled sense of a startled person and a frightened one. Luis caught her around the waist and gently helped her to gain the balance she'd lost. It would have almost been comical had she not been so scared and he so intensely keen.

"Two is great…"

Releasing her, he took a step away and studied her unwaveringly. She felt like a high-school student caught red-handed in a formidable sin, awaiting the punishment. But it was fear that gripped her like an iron suit, making her feel heavy from head to toe as if she would waver and drop unconscious at any moment. Her heart beat rapidly, like a tribal melody flicking her eardrum.

"Alright… I'll see you tomorrow." Looking away from her, he turned off his cell phone and tossed it onto the couch.

She tried to focus on the news running meaninglessly on the television behind him, averting his piercing stare. The picture looked pale, the woman tired, the sound inaudible, and the surrounding too fuzzy.

"If you wanted to listen, you could have just walked in," he said softly, his brown eyes darker as they searched her face. Tiny replicates of the chandelier above played in his eyes.

"I was…"

"Paid Matthew a visit this morning?" Luis asked calmly, loosening the top buttons of his white shirt. His tanned complexion basked in the faint light, flaunting its beauty.

For a few moments, she chose to stop breathing and gaped at him. "Wh-what?" He couldn't have…

Sighing, he turned around and walked over to the television, switched it off and swiveled back to face her. "What were you doing at Crane Industries this morning?"

She blinked. "Visiting my father."

"Catching a few tender moments with Matthew," he corrected, running a quick hand through his ebony black hair. His tone was astonishingly calm, tender even. "Does visiting your father include intimate conversations with Laurence at the door to his office?"

Her face flushed, eyes grew dim, flashing fire at him. "Are you spying on me?"

A small smile curved his lips, and he stepped towards her. "No, I'm looking out for you." He paused and undid the buttons holding the pressed sleeves around his wrists. "I'm not doing it personally."

Indignant tears filled her eyes; she turned away, unwilling to divulge her vulnerability before him—again. Her legs wobbled vaguely as she crossed the distance separating her from the window. When she reached her destination, her hands fell against the cold pane, squeezing it insistently. "How dare you," she hissed harshly, making a fist and pressing it against the window with all of her might. The rain _was_ beautiful, and it reminded her of Luis because he loved it, one of the very few things he related to sentimentality. She could feel the night transforming into a delicate replicate of the one before and that before it, and before and before… The estate glistened in its own lights, adopting the pure water heaven found it necessary to release.

His hand closed over hers gently, his bicep brushing against her arm as it reached past her. She hadn't realized he was so close, and the notion was inconveniently sexy. A shiver ran down her spine as he lowered her hand and left it hanging at her side. Coming around her from behind, his arm held her back against his chest in a loose headlock. He breathed against her cheek, a warm chilling breath. The strength of his muscled arm pressed over her chest should have been threatening, but she knew he wasn't going to hurt he

"Are you angry?"

The image of the window faded into darkness and mysterious light blobs when her eyes fluttered shut at their own volition. She knew he could tell how shaky her breathing was, how uneven her breaths. "Yes." How unsteady her voice.

"You smell divine." Craning its elbow around her waist, his other arm wrapped firmly around her abdomen. His cheek brushed against her temple.

_So do you_, she mused inwardly, covering his arm with both hers over her flat stomach. The perfume he wore to perfection crept awkwardly, like a sweet poison into her nostrils, filling her until she could taste its pungent tang in her mouth. He rarely used it, so it struck her as awkward that he did that day, but the idea was stolen away when he abruptly turned her around and crushed his lips to hers. It was long forgotten when he slid his hands under her red, woolen turtle neck and pulled away from her long enough to pull it over her head. His arms went around her naked waist, radiating heat through the thin material of his shirt—the type that hung wonderfully on his chest. He kissed her mouth again, his tongue massaging hers until the flavor of his perfume was a nonexistent memory. Her arms curled around his neck, and the feminine curves of her body fit perfectly against the muscular frame he easily maintained. She wanted to drown in the sensations forever because they were as breathtaking as melting a smidgen of Swiss chocolate on her tongue. His lips left hers to imitate the rain and shower every inch of exposed skin with intimate kisses.

_I promised myself never to touch you._

She melted with his promise.


	8. Chapter Seven: Bronze Key

**Chapter Seven **

_Bronze Key _

A cascade of tranquil golden sunlight tumbled into the bedroom through the richly embroidered fabric of claret curtains. It seeped like aromatic air through every possible inch dispossessed by ominous gray shadows. The night's chill clung to the marble floor and breathed through the damp brick walls of the mansion. Clear skies held an ideal promise to brawl with the cold and to steal the rain away. They were clear, but they took away the blessing. Her blessing.

Sheridan Crane-Lopez opened her eyes slowly when a noisy bird sang the arrival of the bright and early morning. Lying awake but with closed eyes, giving off the impression of slumber, did not protect her from the studying gaze that caused a splendid flush to paint her cheeks. Cautiously, she met the unassuming intensity in the waiting dark eyes, and as if in demanded response her body ached with the wonderful memories of their glorious love-making. He looked magnificent, perched on his side, his elbow carving a dent in her pillow and attached to an arm with an incredibly contracted bicep. The sparkles of peril danced on his night-roughened face, the stubble along his chin, jaw and cheeks grown to miniscule spikes. She felt dazzled, completely lost, and helplessly drowned in the terrifying pit glittering like tiny specks of gold in his eyes. Clawing desperately at the smooth walls receiving her unending fall, she came to the shattering realization that it was useless. Her heart dropped like a wingless bird toppling into the terrains of insecurity. It had registered the insight far earlier than her mind was willing to receive it.

"Staring is rude." She spoke softly, her voice low and lighthearted and her rumpled hair framing her face softly and to such utter perfection that he had a potent incentive to slide his hands into the golden locks and kiss her to oblivion.

Instead, Luis smiled thinly, mildly amused and smugly in control. His fingers brushed against her chin, and she closed her eyes, submissively leaning into the sensual caress. "It's an unspeakable crime to stare," he agreed in a drugging whisper, leaning closer until his warm breath replaced the golden glow against her cheek. Instinctively, her lips parted, moist and expectant, but he didn't kiss her. His hand slid away from her face, leaving his touch a fresh memory against her skin. The sunlight peered over her face, washing through her hair, glinting in her eyes.

The bed shifted to accommodate the sudden loss of a weight it rarely withstood.

Hot tears burned her eyes; her heart settled contentedly in her throat as she struggled to breathe while she fought a losing battle with the overwhelming urge to cry. He would laugh cruelly if he could comprehend the embracing desire she had to whisper his name and beg him not to hurt her again, but that would have been twisting the knife an inch deeper into her flesh. No matter how expertly she denied it and vehemently grasped to believe otherwise, she knew that to her heart he only knew how to do one thing… break it, hurt it, bruise it until its capacity to beat became too crushing, and it would merely cease to exist.

He turned just enough to grip her eyes in a firm stare, noting the presence of the collected tears in her eyes. But he ignored the notion and pulled on his discarded underwear just as he broke the eye contact and calmly breezed out of her room.

She wanted to kill herself as she whimpered softly against the pillow, her face pressed against the white fabric that held her scent mingled with the masculinity her husband oozed. Her tears smashed against the crinkled surface angrily, erasing their tracks before they were even visible. It didn't matter that she refused to cry for him. She _was_ crying in silent sobs that held but didn't soothe the pain lulling her chest peacefully. The man who had made tender, wonderful love to her hours ago was the same cold, calculating bastard she fought with on a daily basis so that the ritual was too customary to pass up. He was the same man she'd married after one night of hot sex and a week of continuous romance – from red roses to candlelit dinners to long walks along the shore. The same man who had brushed his fingers across her cheek last night and opened his mouth to say something, but then had ended up kissing her long and hard as if he was trying to tell her something… or as if her imagination was beginning to carry her far, far away from the truth. Her husband, Luis Lopez, man of many faces – too many flaws, exquisite talent at romancing and making breathtakingly passionate love. Her crazily jealous, ultimately possessive, unfaithful husband.

A tiny voice cried from inside of her hoping that for this one day he would not use the master bedroom's bathroom. Relief flooded her defeated body when she heard the front-door slam. Like a charm, her hopes were granted, but she was fragile and entirely too broken to lift her head from the pillow where her mind was working restlessly, already plotting another scheme to reveal the shady past her husband was so fond of. The fire she possessed to unveil that cocooned past was too vast to be extinguished, even by colossal emotional setbacks that made her feel as terribly used as she was feeling.

_No more_, she decided with a sudden burst of resolution. She could mess with his sensibility just as well as he toyed with hers. If Luis could spend the night making love to her and strut out of her bedroom callously the next morning, then she would learn to do just that. Sheridan Crane-Lopez had learnt more than a few things in her marriage. One was that she could bring herself to do and feel almost anything, no matter how draining it was. Another was that she could stop _anything_.

After all, she had to cope, regardless of the consequences inflicted upon her character.

The wine-dipped candles flickering steadily were the only lighting available, showering the cozy atmosphere with a romantic aura that was both enticing and dejecting. It was dim, and if faced alone depressing. But the young couples sprinkled around the round tables originally set for two looked anything but depressed. They had the dilated eyes, the rosy cheeks, the swollen lips, the stolen touches, the idealized kisses – symptoms of a disease that could spread faster than fire in a fuel bank.

Love.

She suppressed the longing sigh bubbling within her and crushed it with the simple and truthful harmonious melody of her dreadful morning, her exhausting week, and her nightmarish marriage. Her fingers drummed incessantly against the burgundy tablecloth that bathed beautifully in the candlelight, glittering prettily and her heart hammered musically in a shrill of excitement, fear, and excitement because of fear. The memory of what she'd done that morning played maliciously in the recesses of her mind, tormenting her… agonizing her. Deceiving felt possibly worse than being deceived.

She could still envision herself digging through the phonebook Luis had preserved in a locked drawer belonging to a distinctive chest of drawers. While treating herself to an early shot of red label whiskey, she'd tripped across the key. Accidentally and rather unfortunately. It had been hidden behind the unopened bottle of Johnny Walker, huge and bronzed – unmistakably belonging to the uncharacteristic, cheap bureau Luis had placed in the guest bedroom. The gigantic drawer had almost been empty save for an old, rectangular white notebook and a photo-album resembling those that are given for free after developing photographs. She'd barely had time to thumb through the beginning of the worn notebook only to find out it was being used as a telephone book. Most of the names she'd recognized almost immediately, all written in the thick black ink of a newly acquired Mont Blanc pen until she'd reached one name, jotted in common red ink.

**Hank Bennett. **

There was a zigzag crossing out the name in the same black ink that had written everything else, but it wasn't a vicious one and allowed her to read the name clearly. The number was still there, untouched. For a moment, she'd doubted that it would still work because the marking seemed old and the name unfamiliar. After punching in the digits on her cell phone, she'd replaced the notebook in the drawer, locked it, and retired the key to its original position. Her hands had shivered violently when she remembered that she'd forgotten all about the photo-album. Tempted to go back and check it once again, she'd been stopped when called about an immediate emergency meeting at the hospital board. The photos would have to wait.

Hank Bennett had seemed nice enough on the phone, lighthearted and with a sense of humor that was all based around his rejection from the opposite sex. Thankfully, he'd agreed to dine with her at _Romero's, _the Mexican restaurant just on the outskirts of town. Now, she regretted having asked him to meet her at a place that played the theme of romance boldly and loudly. She definitely wasn't out to give him all the wrong ideas about their meeting, but she doubted he'd be smug enough to assume such a thing. And she was hoping he'd been to _Romero's _before and could recognize the drastic changes made to the restaurant after it was taken by the Anderson family.

Her blue eyes were drawn to the door when a mediocre man who seemed to be jumping at the thirtieth year of life with great passion pushed his way into the restaurant. The clean-cut, noticeably endearing face wore a grim expression like a pair of shoes that didn't fit, and short bangs of brown hair fell lightly on his temples, moving to his forehead and back whenever he walked. He stopped before a waiter and asked him something before being directed to her table – a table under the name of Crane.

A small, reserved smile worked its way onto her lips when she caught his twinkling gaze that was alight with pleasant surprise and appreciation. Hank Bennett stopped at her table and seated himself before her, his eyes flickering around the restaurant in the same wonder hers had.

Clearing his throat, he presumably wiped his hands over the dark blue denim pants he was wearing. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was running around finishing last minute errands when my niece begged me to drop her off at the game." He shrugged, his shoulders rising under his heavy, red sweater. "I'm Hank Bennett."

She shook the hand he held extended beside the candleholder. "Sh-Sharon Crane." Pausing, she fought away the grimace at her stupidity for coming too close to giving out her real name when she'd already lied to him about it on the phone. "It's alright. I'm just glad you could make it."

This time he smiled, a wide toothy grin that was childish and charming. "So what is a pretty lady like you doing, calling people out of anonymous phone-books and asking to meet them for dinner?" His brown eyebrows rose questioningly as he fell back against his chair and crossed his arms against his chest.

"I hoped you could answer some of my questions." There was no time to consider the flattering side to his comment, not when it made her think of how troublesome she was acting. She shouldn't have gone through that notebook. More importantly, she shouldn't have actually called anyone out of it. Staring at him thoughtfully, she came to the unsettling contemplation that this man didn't look like someone Luis would socialize with. He looked… normal and humble. Her husband would eat him alive and throw him butt-naked on an empty street if he ever found out about their meeting.

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, pensive breath followed by an uncertain nod. "I'll do my best to answer anything you can dish my way." To himself, he chuckled softly, looked down at his empty plate, then raised his warm eyes to meet hers. "It's not often that I get to have dinner with rich, beautiful women."

Smiling softly, she averted his stare and decided instantly that she liked this Hank Bennett a lot more than all of Luis's friends put together. "You know I'm rich." The statement fluttered past her lips quietly.

"It's hard not to. The Cranes are known in Harmony and just about everywhere else nation-wide. Before long, we'll be studying about the ruthless Alistair Crane alongside Hitler." Hank grinned cheekily, looking up when a waiter stopped at their table and asked for their orders.

She ordered a green salad with sauce vinaigrette and a bottle of white wine while he selectively described the spicy quarter-pound steak with roasted potatoes dipped in a melted, thick, four-cheese dressing.

"You must be hungry," she commented, genuinely smiling for the first time in what seemed like forever and a day.

"I am," he admitted sheepishly, his cheeks coloring to an adorable hue of red. "So… what is it that you wanted to ask me about?"

Shaken out of her thoughts and faced with the original issue at hand, she linked her fingers and placed them tentatively in her lap. "I would like you to answer a few questions about an old friend of yours." The guess was thrown blindly and he nodded patiently. "Luis Lopez."

Hank Bennett held her blue gaze for a moment longer before he looked away and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Prickles of perspiration dotted the line of his shaven moustache and creased his forehead. It was cold outside, but _Romero's _had a peculiar toasty warmth that made it seem like the last days of spring. But he was sweating with unease. "Trust me, lady, you know more about him now than I'll ever get to know. He's married into your family." Pausing, he shoved a hand through his hair and muttered a curse under his breath. "I read that in the Herald, saw the picture... that was months ago."

"Yes, he married a far relative." She grasped the glass of wine the moment it touched the table and downed a healthy sip to ease her taut nerves. "I'm more concerned about his past."

He frowned, his brow furrowing in the intense expression as he chewed on a piece of fresh bread. "Why?"

"I'll keep my reasons to my self for the time being." Her voice exuded absolute authority, and she felt grateful for her sudden burst of confidence. She didn't know how much more she could take of his confusion, discomfort, and wonder before she came out with the whole truth about the real reason she wanted to know. He was her husband, damn it. "Will you answer my questions?"

A boyish grin creased the sides of Hank's eyes. "Will you treat me to dinner?"

She laughed while pouring another glass of wine and sliding it towards him. The tension slid out of her nerves silently while utter relief flooded her face. "Of course."

"Okay," he began, bringing the transparent glass to his lips and tasting the rich liquid slowly as if rolling its flavor around his tongue. "What do you want to know?"

The smile dropped off her face as she drew in a wavering breath. "How long have you known Luis?"

"I can't tell you that I still know him. We haven't spoken in at least ten years, but we knew each other well enough ever since we were born. You see our parents were friends – good friends. So we became best friends." He spoke honestly, once or twice hesitating over his words.

"Your parents were friends with Don Fernando and his wife?" Her heart was jumping excitedly at the prospect. Initially, she hadn't counted on getting any information at all concerning the issue, but her lucky stars were shining on her that night. And now that she was facing one of the keys to her husband's past, she felt her impatience grow within her and she wanted to squeeze everything out of him.

Hank swallowed deliberately and averted her blue gaze. "Y-yes." There it was: his first lie. Even though he and Luis were no longer even remotely friendly, he would never think of betraying a man he once considered his dearest friend whatever the circumstances. "His mother ah – died when he was around twelve." A look of utter sympathy washed over his companion's beautiful face. At least, that wasn't a lie. "He was never the same after that."

"But it was so widely known that Don Fernando had no children." It came out more as a question, and she wanted to kick herself for sounding so privy and suspicious.

"It's because of his wife…" he explained vaguely. "She was very sick." He coughed, choking on a gulp of his wine, and the waiter swept beside him, placing the steaming dish in front of him right before he set the rich salad on the opposite end of the table.

Hank focused excessively on his food, and she got the impression he was trying to dodge anymore questions. At first, he'd seemed more willing than when he'd found out about the topic of their conversation. So far, he didn't seem too excited about the subject. "How was Luis before the death?" Visibly, he relaxed under that topic as if he was infinitely more comfortable discussing her husband's personality rather than the cold hard facts about his life.

"He was a very nice guy, flexible under pressure, and with a heart the size of Texas. And he loved his… mother a great deal."

"Will I be asking too much if I told you to recount everything about him exactly as you remember it?" Her fork paused in the stabbing of two cuts of lettuce, and Hank smiled once again. She could get used to seeing the amiable man smile.

"It will cost you, Crane. The more you keep me, the more I'll eat. There's no stopping me." He was delighted when she laughed for the second time concerning the same joke, awed by her beauty, and repelled by her hunger to find out so much about an ancient friend. The look in her astonishingly striking blue eyes told him to hurry with his story, and he did just that. "Like I told you, Luis and I first met before either of us was conscious enough to recognize it. We grew up together, the best of friends, and went to the same school, terrorized the same teachers, picked on the same geeks, and fought with the same bullies. Needless to say, we pledged our loyalty to each other everyday, and more seriously when we finished elementary and were warded off to middle school. Convinced that we were always going to be the closest two people on earth, Luis and I did everything together."

Hank swallowed the piece of meat he'd neatly cut out of his steak and tried to wipe the wistful expression on his face, only to find that he couldn't. "He told me everything as I told him, and both our families relished our bond, growing closer because of it. When his mother died, everything flipped for him. His world as he knew it changed, and I was the only thing that was still the same – my family was the same. We supported him for as long as he let us, and then he secluded himself to Don Fernando and the mansion, training hard to be what he was never meant to be. Luis wanted badly to become a gentleman, to take over Don Fernando's business one day and fit into that society of yours. At that time, we were still friends, but he was starting to become drawn back and defensive.

"We both got scholarships to Boston University, but he would've gone either way. Don Fernando would've paid if he'd had to. Anyway, I was wrong to think that our sharing a dorm room would revive our friendship, even though it did for a while when he was acting normal and dating the many girls thrown at him. You see, Luis carried his title of star quarterback from high school to college with ease and joined the most popular fraternity on campus. Now that's hot stuff." Shaking his head in distant reminiscence, he wiped the corners of his lips with a napkin. "Man, girls were crazy about him back then, and he dated a lot. Fun dating. Not one of the chicks was ever worth a serious thought in his mind. He'd had his eyes set on his wife the whole time. I knew that even though he never said it.

"He met her once, during a summer vacation when he came back to Harmony to stay at the mansion. When he returned to Boston, it was in the last graces of our friendship that he told me all about meeting her at the huge gala dinner held at the Seascape. He talked like crazy about how beautiful and sophisticated she was, bragging that she spoke French and Spanish and could fly a plane and ride a horse. Quite plainly put, he was awed by the Crane Heiress, but it was such contemptuous awe that it would have frightened her if she'd ever seen it. Luis promised me then that he would marry someone exactly like her, and I knew even then that he meant he would marry _her_. I was not surprised when I read about their wedding in the Herald. He had proven to me time and time again that he would never give up on something he wanted. And Luis had wanted Sheridan Crane for more reasons than one."

He hadn't noticed that Sheridan's once relatively calm face was now flushing with emotion. Her gut wrenched painfully, and she had to keep herself from sobbing again as her mind reeled with the memories of what she'd thought was their first meeting. She wanted to remember their actual first meeting when Luis Lopez had set his victim, and she desperately wanted to know why in the devil's name he had chosen her. For an instant, she began to regret going 'home' that summer, but then she realized that even if he hadn't met her that day… Luis would have found her. Because he wanted her. And the bastard got everything that he wanted, using any means necessary.

" Sharon?" Hank was waving his hand before her face as he smirked his amusement. "Where were you just then?"

Sighing, she brought a lightly trembling hand to her forehead and rubbed her temple effectively. It was all quite too much to take in so quickly, but she managed to force the muscles of her face into releasing a tiny smile. "I… I actually j-just remembered that I have a… an engagement in fifteen minutes."

His face wore a disappointed look that bore the remnants of his boyish grin. "Then I guess we should wrap up here, huh?"

She nodded but didn't seem to notice that she had a man who was incredibly dejected shuffling forlornly before her. "I'm… really, really sorry about this. I totally forgot…" She signaled to their waiter about bringing them the check.

"It's okay." Hank tried to smile, failing miserably when he came out with a near wince just watching her open the leather-bound little booklet and slip a fifty and a twenty dollar bill into it. "I just…" Trailing off, he stood at the exact moment that she did and attempted to help her with the bulky white coat one of the waiters had delivered. But she was obviously in a hurry as he followed her to the door of the restaurant with the words still swimming in his mouth.

When they were both outside, she turned around quickly. "Thank you, Hank. You've been great about all of this, and I really do owe you this favor." In an elegant movement he couldn't help but notice, she tightened the obviously very expensive fur coat around her shoulders. "You have my number. If you ever need anything at all, feel free to call me at anytime."

His hand shot out and grabbed hers before she could leave, and he tried to smile at the utterly shocked look on her face. "You'll be doing me a great favor in return if you agree to have dinner with me tomorrow. It'll be my treat. I promise." Hank took his time smiling at her before he let go of her hand and stuffed his into the blue-black pocket of his jeans. For a second, his eyes washed over the restaurant and he let out a little laugh. "But it'll definitely be somewhere less… extravagant."

She smiled sympathetically, momentarily forgetting her own problems and allowing herself to feel guilty for leading him on in anyway. "I'm sorry, but…"

"Aw, damn, you're seeing someone, aren't you? I mean even I should have enough sense to ask you that before I make a fool of myself…"

"Hank," she interrupted his rambling with a gentle tone that drove him to meet her eyes evenly. "I'm married."

He laughed softly, this time taking a hold of her hand and bringing it to his lips in a touching gesture. "I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. A woman like you is very likely to be married." He kissed the warm skin before gently letting her hand go. "After all, you're beautiful and sophisticated and rich. But somehow, I didn't think a sane husband would let such a phenomenal wife out of his sight for a second."

"You're a sweet man, Hank Bennett." His words affected her beyond reason, and it wasn't only because they were more than flattering… and they'd been said before by so many men she'd met randomly… and confirmed so often by her faithful pursuer… They moved her because deep inside she knew that the only person she _wanted_ to hear them from would never utter such 'nonsense'.

"What can I say? I'm a heartbreaker." And the teasing twinkle was back to his eyes as he walked her to the parking, closed the door to her car, and then slid into his own little Ford. Revving the engine to life, he followed her Mustang with his gaze until the heat came on full blast in the car, startling him for a moment. Hank turned his attention back to the interior of his modest vehicle and finally noticed a small magazine-clipping Kay had probably dropped from her backpack in the rush she'd been to get to the fields. Frowning, he picked it up and almost snorted at the assortment of professionally taken photos at the posh, gala dinner the Davidsons had held a while ago. He was about to crumple it and toss it outside his window and then lecture Kay about it when he suddenly caught a newly familiar glittering gaze in one of the photos that his up-to-no-good niece had obviously marked with a small blue check next to the photo. He stared at the capture fully and was slapped by the reality of it jiffies later when he realized that the woman he had just dined with was Sheridan Crane, his old best friend's wife, daughter of the almighty Alistair Crane. She and Luis were posing in the photo, both looking marvelously glamorous but amazingly unhappy. Sheridan Crane appeared like she was fighting tears with her husband Luis _Lopez_ by her side. He could slap himself for his own gullibility and his failure to recognize the Crane Heiress, not that he'd seen her often… but either way, he'd been blinded with his own desire to court the stunning beauty.

As he finally led his car away from _Romero's_, he tried to focus on damning her for lying to him, but it was almost uncontrollable… his thoughts fled and latched onto the notion of her sorrow, and why she was asking _him_ about her husband –and exactly how she came to know of his existence. Luis certainly would never mention him.

He shook his head vehemently. First thing would be finding out why on earth Kay had a clipping about Luis Lopez and his wife.


End file.
